Not Another Romance Blog

Sealed With a Kiss: Lila DiPasqua + Giveaway

2012-02-01T00:24:00.003-05:00

Lila DiPasqua

Lila DiPasqua writes wicked & witty historical romance for Penguin/Berkley. She lives with her real-life hero husband and three children and is a firm believer in the happily-ever-after. She loves history and enjoys traveling. She has been to four continents so far. To learn more about Lila and her books, visit www.LilaDiPasqua.com

Find Lila Online: Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter

A MIDNIGHT DANCE—a Cinderella story that is as steamy and exciting as it is romantic. (FIERY TALES SERIES, Berkley Sensation, Historical Romance)

Devastatingly handsome and rich, Jules de Moutier, firstborn son of the Marquis de Blainville, was an officer in the King’s Navy and the center of attention at any noble gathering. His life was good, his future enviable, until a terrible twist of fate robbed him of his father, his family’s fortune and honor. As a result of his father’s conviction and execution for treason, the Moutier family is no longer in favor with the King. Stripped of their nobility, tossed out of the Navy and disgraced before his peers, Jules has lost everything he’s ever identified with. He’ll stop at nothing to uncover the person who framed his father, reclaim what’s rightfully his and exact revenge. It’s taken him years, but he’s now finally in a position to walk away from the privateering he took up out of necessity—intent on using his newly captured silver treasure to help him reclaim his former life and clear his family’s name. All is going according to plan, until he crosses paths with a certain blond and beautiful desperate thief.

He doesn’t know that Sabine Laurent had a tendre for him when she was fifteen. Nor is he aware that she’s not really a prostitute. He does, however, know that the full grown woman before him is beautiful and beguiling, even in her modest garb. He can’t wait to sample her charms. Before all is said and done, Sabine Laurent will have stolen his silver . . . and his heart.

The Love Letter:

Dearest Sabine,
I’ve never met a woman like you. I doubt I ever will. I know no other who would have had the courage to enter a camp full of men and attempt what you did.

There is no one else I’d rather match wits and wiles with. There’s no one else I’d rather have drive me mad—with the clash of anger and untamable desire you incite. Yet, I wouldn’t trade a moment of our time together. You alone managed to slip behind my defenses. You alone drew the bitterness out of my life.

There are many things I love about you. You are beautiful, bright, brave and loyal. I adore your stories. I love it how you melt at my touch. And how your lovely pale-colored hair is the color of moonbeams and starlight in the night’s silvery light. I even love those eccentric misfits you call your family, because they are a part of you.

I look forward to many midnight dances with you. I consider myself the richest man in the world as long as I have my silver-eyed beauty by my side

Yours always,
Jules de Moutier

Check out Jules and Sabine's love story in A MIDNIGHT DANCE:

Inspired by the tale of Cinderella, Lila DiPasqua weaves a steamy historical romance that offers a glass slipper, a dangerous deception, and an impoverished beauty determined to find her handsome prince...and make him pay.

Born into wealth, Sabine Laurent and her twin sister lived a life of luxury, their father's prestigious theater frequented by royalty and aristocracy alike. And Sabine dreamed of her own prince charming--the devastatingly handsome Jules de Moutier.

That was before the loss of her sister and her family's fall from grace--a disaster Sabine blames on the Moutier family. Now, with her father's death, she's inherited his sizable debt and the responsibility of caring for his spoiled long-time mistress and her two wastrel daughters. But with the help of Sabine's eccentric friends--the balance of her father's acting troupe--she plans to get very close to her old infatuation, seduce the rake--and make away with a fortune.

Resisting Jules's skillful mouth and tantalizing touch is not as easy as Sabine supposed. And soon she must decide whether her desire for vengeance is greater than her desire for her one and only prince...

Buy Now:

Amazon (Paperback) | Amazon (Kindle)

Barnes&Noble (Paperback) | Barnes&Noble (Nook)

AND Look for the next in the Fiery Tales series—coming in April . . . UNDONE!

Inspired by the tale of Rapunzel, Lila DiPasqua offers a new steamy, emotionally charged historical romance in the acclaimed Fiery Tales Series . . . Rescuing this beauty from the ‘tower’ is only the beginning . . .

**GIVEAWAY**

Lila is giving away a signed copy of A MIDNIGHT DANCE to one lucky commenter! Just comment below AND fill out the rafflecopter form below to enter! Giveaway open to residents in the US and Canada.

And don't forget to head over to Ramblings From This Chick blog to check out Sabine's letter to Jules!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Swing by the special Sealed with a Kiss event page to get extra entries for the GRAND PRIZE!!!

Release Day Interview...in reverse! With Jenn LeBlanc & Maire Claremont (+ Giveaway)

2012-01-31T11:22:00.002-05:00

So you guys know how I usually invite authors on the blog on their release day for an interview, right? Well, TODAY is Jenn LeBlanc's release day; but instead of ME interviewing HER, SHE will be interviewing someone ELSE! A new author to me, but sure to be a fav, Maire Claremont! This is part of Jenn's "The Wicked Blog Tour", so sit back at your computer desk, relax, and enjoy the mayhem!!

Getting Down to Business:

Who's Jenn LeBlanc?

"Jenn has several constants in life that define her: Colorado, Canon, CJ, kids and curls.

Born and raised in a household of other people's children in this beautiful state- she never left. She started her own family, got used to the curls, went to college, built a CJ, and started a business, all with a camera in hand.
She always had another passion; storytelling born from daydreams and nightmares. Her fingers were never as quick as her mind, and no amount of practice got them there, so it was difficult and frustrating to have this inside. When her second daughter was born her inherent traits kept Jenn pinned-- her only escape the keyboard. Spending her days in parenting chat rooms she got highly adept with one-handed typing and she can still type just about as fast with one hand as she can with two. It's a great talent to have when engrossed in a scene and in need of a hit of caffeine. She recently finished her first novel but quickly realized: she was born a photographer.
From the realization that someone ELSE would be shooting the cover of her book her control-freak took over. What started as an easy cover shoot ballooned into this completely new kind of media, designed specifically for digital book readers.
Jenn lives and thrives off chaos and the constant flow of the creative process. She wears shorts and flip-flops year-round --much to the chagrin of her friends and family-- and she is currently working on the illustrations for her second novel.
Follow the blog or twitter for up to date information!"

Where can I find her?

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

What has she released lately?

TODAY is the official release day of Jenn's latest installment to her six part serial series: The Rake and The Recule: REDUX. Totally remastered and remagnificent-ified and broken up into the six-part serial e-novel it was meant to be. Did I mention it is FULLY ILLUSTRATED. Your eReader will thank you later ;)

Six weeks ago, PART 1 was release (Get part 1: here), and then 4 weeks ago, Jenn stopped by with the lovely Delilah Marvelle for an interview and released PART 2! Then, she was back with Elise Rome and the Third installment of her novel (get part 3: here). And now, it's time for another interview to celebrate the release of PART 4!

A woman out of time.
A man stifled by propriety.
A nemesis determined to take her away.
A brother to the rescue.

How will a powerful Duke deal with a woman who doesn't know her place? How will a woman used to the 21st century survive in time where she is considered property?

THE RAKE AND THE RECLUSE Part FOUR is full of revelations, celebrations, protestations and one surprise that will have you holding your breath for the final chapters. What has Perry done?

Francine Larrabee woke up on the wrong side of the century. She was fairly certain she went to sleep in her own comfy bed, but she doesn’t quite seem to be there now. Only adding to her problems is that she has no voice, is constantly being glowered at by a large, stunning man who is obsessed with propriety, and she is apparently betrothed to another horrid little man, determined to ruin her, and any other girls that get in his way.
How does she find herself in the past, when she couldn’t even find herself in her present? How does a self sufficient businesswoman survive in a time when women were still considered property for the whole of their lives and what is she going to do with this man who draws her to him so fiercely.

How do I get my copy now, Now, NOW?

Amazon (Kindle)

All Romance eBooks (digital ecopy)

Barnes and Noble (Nook Book)

Who's Jenn Interviewing Today?

Maire Claremont

Chatting Up Maire Claremont:

Marie Claremont

Hello my lovelies! Welcome to Not Another Romance Blog. Rita thank you SO much for hosting my Wicked Blog tour! I’m baaaaaack!!

And thank you Lady Rita, ever so kindly, for allowing me to hijack your blog to chat with some amazing authors!

My third victim guest (ok now it’s just habit) is Maire Claremont. Maire is the 2011 winner of the Golden Heart in Historical Romance from Romance Writers of America. That is quite the accomplishment! Congratulations!

Maire: Why thank you, my darling Jenn. It was an amazing experience. Sometimes I can’t believe it happened, and I end up staring at my little Golden Heart necklace to prove it! Also, thank you to our hostess, Lady Rita for having me too! I was pleased as punch to be asked.

Jenn: I’m so excited you said yes because the buzz on the interwebz is quite...buzzy with your book. Why don’t you tell these readers a little bit more about yourself.

Maire: {Waggles brows} Where does a lady begin? Well, I’ve spent most of my life gypsying about, practicing dance and theater. I’ve lived all over the US and Ireland, Scotland, and London. At present I’m working toward my Ph.d in theater so that one day I might corrupt . . . Ahem. . . educate young minds. Every spare moment is spent researching dark, luscious landscapes for dark luscious heroes, of course.

Jenn: *sigh* Who could go wrong with luscious anything really, but luscious heroes? *daydreams*

Oh my! I beg your pardon! Eh hem. Tell us about the manuscript that won, THE DARK LADY. As if the title isn’t compelling enough, who is the dark lady?

Maire: Thank you for the compliment! The title actually originates from Shakespeare’s Dark Lady Sonnets. They are fabulous sonnets about a very cheeky woman who doesn’t fit the contemporary mold of women in his time. And who is my Dark Lady? She is Lady Eva Carin, a character who crashed into my world one night whilst I was in bed. Eva clamored so loudly I had to get up and write her first scene, a scene which launches her into a darkness so deep only her childhood love, Lord Ian Blake, can save her from it.

Jenn: Aw! I adore that. But I understand that this book is set in Victorian era and that is rather a recent development for you after being dedicated to the ever popular Regency. Why the switch?

Maire: I LOVE Regency. Its a fabulous genre full of delicious fun and sometimes darkness depending on which lens you focus with. I’d been writing it and getting very close to being agented with it, but Eva came along and with her tale, I knew I couldn’t abandon her to the back files of my imagination. I’d also just read Duke of Shadows by Meredith Duran. If you haven’t read this book, get yourself to the nearest book store or fire up your fingers to purchase a la Amazon. Its a gorgeous dark Victorian novel about impossible redemption.

So, I was quickly awakened to a new time period and the wild, repressed passion of a society in the midst of astronomical change. What I truly love about Victorian society is that the veneer was so placid, so still, so proper, but beneath it was a sea of roiling emotion, aggression, rapture, wicked sex, and opium addiction.

Jenn: Talk about dark! Sex, drugs and...and...waltzing? Maybe? Yikes! So back to this awakening of yours, because writing in any historical era requires a lot of research, you must have had to delve into this new world. What are some of the more interesting points you’ve discovered while researching?

Maire: Oh my, lady. This is hardly a fair question! The most fascinating piece of information that I discovered was Godfrey’s Cordial. This was a medicine for children to “calm” them. It was basically laudanum and treacle, known as maple syrup in the United States. Parents used this to knock their children out so they could have a few hours of peace from their grueling work days and sometimes that peace was to drink their gin. Essentially, the laudanum, which is opiates mixed with alcohol, would deplete the nutrients from the child’s body and kill their need to eat. As a result, thousands of children died of malnourishment. Upper class women also used Godfrey’s Cordial to sooth the nerves and dampen their appetite which then helped them fit in those oh so tiny corsets. Godfrey’s Cordial was available easily over the counter.

And one last piece, in India, Indian soldiers could not be flogged for offenses whereas troops from “home” could. I thought this was remarkable and almost had to rewrite an entire scene because I had assumed floggings would occur to Indian soldiers as well to those from the Isles. This wonderful bit of research allowed me to become more creative with how a certain character showed his cruelty.

Jenn: WOW Godfrey’s Cordial. Cough syrup offenses suddenly seem quite minor in comparison. *eh hem* Soooo....will WE be able to read The Dark Lady?

Maire: {Wink wink} The answer is yes, but the details are still hush hush. Can’t wait to squee all about it in the next weeks.

Jenn: Ahhhhh!! I can’t WAIT to *squee* right along with you! I’m so intrigued by this world you’re shaping for us, I’m very much looking forward to diving in head first.

Maire: Thank you so much for having me, but before I go, I must ask our lovely readers what’s their favorite part of a dark historical. I love to chat about passionately dark tales, so comment or ask away!

Jenn: If you’d like to chat with Maire (and who wouldn’t) hit her up on twitter- @MaireClaremont. AAAND! One very lucky commenter will win a copy of our sweet friend Delilah Marvelle’s FOREVER AND A DAY from me!! Because she was my first interview...because her tales always have that dark wickedness to them. Because...just because. So comment away!!

Find Maire Claremont on Twitter and stay tuned for her updates: @MaireClaremont

**GIVEAWAY**

Jenn has generously offered to giveaway a copy of her buddy, Delilah Marvelle's, book FOREVER AND A DAY to 1 lucky commenter. So leave a comment AND fills out the raffle copter widget below to be in the drawing!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Event Announcement: Sealed With A Kiss: A Celebration of Love

2012-01-29T13:22:00.004-05:00

It's almost Valentine's Day! Have you written a love letter for your Valentine yet? Did you...Seal it with a Kiss?

Get ready to dust off that sexy lingerie and gorge on chocolates from your sweetie!

Even if you're flying solo this year, it doesn't mean you can't be your own Valentine and love yourself real good by splurging on candies and hot & steamy romance books! And what better way for a book lover to celebrate Valentine's Day then by reading love letters from their favorite characters by their favorite authors!?

That's right! Dani and Rita are at it again! Every day in February leading up to Valentine's day, stop by Ramblings From This Chick and Not Another Romance Blog for the Sealed With A Kiss: A Celebration of Love event!

Starting on February 1st, a different author will be stopping by both blogs everyday to drop off love letters from their Heroes and Heroines. Here's your chance to get slightly voyeuristic and read some sappy sweet (or incredibly funny, or just plain inspiring or possibly light hearted) love letters by characters from books you may or may not have read and fallen head of heels for!

Each day you'll have a chance to feel the love and win a romance book to help you get in the mood! Just comment and fill out the respective rafflecopter forms you see in the posts to be in the drawing!

ALSO, by commenting each day on both blogs you enables you to enter into the GRAND PRIZE giveaway that will be awarded at the end of the event. The grand prize will consists of goodies contributed by both Dani and Rita and also some goodies donated by some generous authors. There will be one master Rafflecopter form on a special page on both blogs that you can fill out daily as you comments on the letters.

Are you feeling the love yet?

Here's a peek at the list of fab authors stopping by with love letter's:

Lila DiPasqua

Beverley Kendall

Kate Noble

Manda Collins

Elise Rome

Vicky Dreiling

Maggie Robinson

Heather Snow

Jenna Petersen

Theresa Romain

Maya Rodale

Shana Galen

Caroline Linden

Jenn LeBlanc

So make sure to mark your calendars and prepare for the Celebration of Love!

Can't Help Falling in Love...with Heather Snow! (Guest Post + Giveaway)

2012-01-27T06:39:00.002-05:00

Please welcome to the blog newly published authoress, Heather Snow!
I am so excited to have her on the blog today to celebrate the release of her new novel, SWEET ENEMY, which will be available from Penguin Publishing in all formats on Feb. 7th!
Until then, you'll have to make due with the delicious sneak peeks laced throughout this thoroughly entertaining guest post she has put together.
Without further adieu:

About Heather:

Heather Snow is a historical romance author with a degree in Chemistry who discovered she much preferred creating chemistry on the page, rather than in the lab. She is forever trying to wrangle her left and right brain to work together (some days with more success than others!), but if her two sides had to duke it out, left would win every time—which can be a creative challenge. Luckily, she loves challenges…she just goes about solving them analytically.

Heather lives in the Midwest with her husband, two rambunctious boys and one very put upon cat. She sincerely hopes you find her stories have just the right chemistry…

Find Heather Online: Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter

About the Book:

Buy links at the bottom of post!

Sweet Enemy

A Veiled Seduction Novel

Book One

"Historical intrigue and heart-pounding passion make Sweet Enemy a great read. Romance fans will love it."

-#1NYT Bestselling Author JULIE GARWOOD

Geoffrey Wentworth, a war hero and rising political star, never wanted to be the Earl, but when his brother dies, he knows his duty—take up the responsibility for his family’s estates. His mother’s definition of duty differs from his, however, and can be summed up in one word—heirs. When Geoffrey rushes home to answer her urgent summons, he finds himself host to a house full of women, all vying to become the next Countess of Stratford. But his love is Parliament, where he wields his influence and reputation to better the lives of ex-soldiers, until a tempting houseguest and a secret from his past threaten his freedom…and his heart.

Liliana Claremont, a brilliant chemist, doesn’t want to be any man’s wife, much less a Countess. If she had tuppence for every time she’d been told her place was filling the nursery, not experimenting in the laboratory, she could buy the Tower Bridge. However, when she receives a coveted invitation to the Earl’s house party, she trades in her beakers for ball gowns and gladly takes on the guise of husband hunter—for the chance to uncover what the Earl had to do with the murder of her father.

Liliana believes the best way to get the answers she needs is to keep her enemy close, though romance is not part of her formula. But it only takes one kiss to start a reaction she can't control...

The Guest Post:

Can’t Help Falling in Love...

a Guest Post by Heather Snow

###

“Is it always like this?” she asked, her voice a breathy sound that stroked him as surely as if she’d touched him. “This . . .” She pressed her lips together and her brows dipped, and Geoffrey knew her innocence struggled to find the words for how she was feeling. “This overwhelming, gnawing ache inside?” She smoothed her palm down her center, settling it low on her stomach.

Geoffrey shook his head. It had never been like this for him before. Ever. “No,” he whispered. “This is something special.”

She gave a slow nod of comprehension, never looking away from him.

She was something special. What she made him feel was something special. Something he’d never before even wanted to feel but now was beginning to suspect he didn’t want to live without.

Geoffrey held her in his lap a moment longer, loath to lose the weight and warmth of her. Then he helped her to rise, to right herself. As they restored their appearances and gathered the horses, Geoffrey’s mind was awhirl, and though it circled quickly, he didn’t doubt what he was thinking. His instincts had proven to be solid over his life, and they were telling him one thing emphatically.

He wanted Liliana as his wife.

Honest, forthright, curious, unconventional, passionate, brilliant Liliana.

But she didn’t want him. Not as a husband, anyway. She just wanted to experiment.

But he could change her mind. She’d given him the perfect opening, just the right ammunition—her nature. If experimentation was the way to a scientist’s heart, he’d oblige her. And every step they took would bind her more and more to him.

Deep in his chest, Geoffrey felt a smile form and expand until it couldn’t be contained. It built, rose in him until it burst forth on his face. He was more and more certain Liliana would be a good wife for him.

How ironic that he was now no different from everyone else here at Somerton Park.

He was planning to trap someone into marriage.

###

Did you know that men fall in love faster than women? No, really. According to Dr. Helen Fisher, a biological anthropologist from Rutgers University, it’s true. “Men fall in love faster than women do. Women take longer because they have to create a “memory trail” of their mate’s behaviors. She has to remember what he promised, what he’s done for the partnership, and what he failed to do.” Dr. Fisher’s work on the brain chemistry of love is fascinating, fascinating stuff, equating romantic love to chemical addiction and explaining just what goes on beneath the surface that attracts us to one person but not another, sometimes against our own will.

As a sciency-type myself, I love studies like these. I use them to inform my writing, and hopefully create love stories that feel authentic when you read them. I also have a laugh at my poor clueless heroes and heroines, who can’t possibly even know that they don’t stand a chance against the powerful biological forces of attraction, lust and love.

Take poor Liliana, for example. She emphatically does not want to fall in love with Geoffrey. The man is her enemy. She’s pretty certain someone in his family killed her father, and fully expects that even if Geoffrey doesn’t know anything about it, once he finds out, he’ll do what he must to protect his own. And yet, she can’t seem to stay away from him. Subconsciously, she is drawn to him and once she gives in, even just a little, she’s trapped. Geoffrey has her nailed (literally) when he decides to use her natural curiosity and experimental nature to bind her to him, first with kisses and then with more.

You see, though she couldn’t possibly have known this in Regency times, if Liliana truly didn’t want to fall for Geoffrey, she never should have let him touch her. Human touch, particularly in women, releases a hormone called oxytocin into our bodies. When combined with estrogen, oxytocin creates a desire to be penetrated…and we all know what that leads to ;). Unfortunately for Liliana (or fortunately, in my opinion!), orgasm causes oxytocin levels to spike three to five times higher than normal, bonding her further to Geoffrey in the bliss called afterglow. So, every time they kiss, every time they touch, every time they make love, her hormone levels rise, making her want him more and more, despite her better judgment, in a lovely, delicious cycle.

Sure, this makes for great internal conflict for our heroine, but how does this great sex lead to everlasting love? Well, oxytocin is also known as “the cuddle hormone.” It’s the same that is flooded through a new mother’s body to bond her to her newborn. It creates feelings of strong attachment and satisfaction that, combined with the other hormones that flow through our brains during the early stages of lust, can push us over the threshold to love. Dr. Fisher says, “Having sex can trigger love—probably because after orgasm, there’s a peak in dopamine activity. So watch out if you casually bed down with someone—you might unintentionally fall for them.”

You didn’t know we romance novelists were so scientifically accurate when we wrote love stories, did you?

And yes, Liliana does eventually fall for the handsome earl, not just because of her hormones and the fabulous sex. Though that doesn’t hurt , it’s only a small part of Geoffrey and Liliana’s love story. I hope you enjoy my tale of two enemies who discover, against all odds, that their happily-ever-afters lie together.

Sweet Enemy hits the shelves on February 7th, wherever books are sold. However, I’d be happy to give away an advanced copy of Sweet Enemy to a random commenter today. Have you ever found yourself

ridiculously attracted to someone and you couldn’t explain why? I’ll go first… When my eldest son was a

toddler, I carried a torch for Murray, the Red Wiggle. (Don’t ask me. I don’t understand it myself…)

---
Sweet Enemy is available for Pre-Order right now wherever books are sold and will available widely on February 7, 2012.

Pre-order Sweet Enemy today!

Rainy Day Books (Heather’s local Indie)

Amazon (Kindle Edition) | Amazon (Paperback Edition)

Books-A-Million

Barnes and Noble | Indiebound

~*~GIVEAWAY~*~

Heather has generously offered to give away an advanced copy of her novel, SWEET ENEMY, to one (1) lucky commenter! All you have to do is comment below answering her question and fill out the rafflecopter form below. Giveaway ends 2/3 !

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Release Day Interview...in reverse! With Jenn LeBlanc & Elise Rome (+ Giveaway)

2012-01-17T03:27:00.001-05:00

So you guys know how I usually invite authors on the blog on their release day for an interview, right? Well, TODAY is Jenn LeBlanc's release day; but instead of ME interviewing HER, SHE will be interviewing someone ELSE! My secret mistress, and amazing authoress Elise Rome! This is part of Jenn's "The Wicked Blog Tour", so sit back at your computer desk, relax, and enjoy the mayhem!!

Getting Down to Business:

Who's Jenn LeBlanc?

"Jenn has several constants in life that define her: Colorado, Canon, CJ, kids and curls.

Where can I find her?

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

What has she released lately?

TODAY is the official release day of Jenn's latest installment to her six part serial series: The Rake and The Recule: REDUX. Totally remastered and remagnificent-ified and broken up into the six-part serial e-novel it was meant to be. Did I mention it is FULLY ILLUSTRATED. Your eReader will thank you later ;)

Four weeks ago, PART 1 was release (Get part 1: here), and then 2 weeks ago, Jenn stopped by with the lovely Delilah Marvelle for an interview and released PART 2! Now, she's back with Elise Rome and the Third installment of her novel (get part 3: here)

THE RAKE AND THE RECLUSE Part THREE brings Francine and Gideon closer than they ever imagined possible, until the unimaginable tears them apart. What will Gideon do if he loses her, this time, forever? This is the third installment of the completely revised novel, with all new material.

Francine Larrabee woke up on the wrong side of the century. She was fairly certain she went to sleep in her own comfy bed, but she doesn’t quite seem to be there now. Only adding to her problems is that she has no voice, is constantly being glowered at by a large, stunning man who is obsessed with propriety, and she is apparently betrothed to another horrid little man, determined to ruin her, and any other girls that get in his way.
How does she find herself in the past, when she couldn’t even find herself in her present? How does a self sufficient businesswoman survive in a time when women were still considered property for the whole of their lives and what is she going to do with this man who draws her to him so fiercely.

How do I get my copy now, Now, NOW?

Amazon (Kindle)

All Romance eBooks (digital ecopy)

Barnes and Noble (Nook Book)

Who's Jenn Interviewing Today?

Elise Rome

After spending countless hours memorizing both traditional and simplified Chinese characters, perfecting her tones, and practicing her speaking with any Chinese native she could find, Ashley successfully graduated with a degree in Mandarin Chinese. Then she discovered writing romances was as much fun as reading them, and her Chinese capabilities have never been the same. When she isn't writing, Ashley stays busy chasing around her two young daughters, attempting to do housework, and hiking in the beautiful foothills of Colorado.

And it begins...

Chatting Up Elise Rome with Jenn LeBlanc

Hello my lovelies! Welcome back to Not Another Romance Blog. Rita thank you again SO much for hosting my Wicked Blog tour! Click on that linky there to find out more and make your way around the world wide web to enter to win a Kindle Fire or Color Nook!

Now! I’m thrilled to be carousing on the internets chatting up lovely bookies like this lady here.

My second victim guest (I really should stop doing that) is the amazing Elise Rome.

Jenn: Elise, first tell these readers a little about yourself, in case they don’t know who you are.

Elise: Thanks, Jenn! I guess the best way to describe me would be to say that I’m the author previously known as Ashley March. After making the decision to leave the traditional world for a bold new journey in self-publishing, I also decided to start out with a brand new name. I will continue writing historical romances—I plan to debut two new series this year, one in the Victorian era and another in the 1920s—and at some point I also plan to dive into writing contemporary romances, which I’m very excited about.

Jenn: The Victorian era. The 20s. What about these time periods calls to you?

Elise: My new Victorian series, Unmasked, will take place mid-19th century, and what really appeals to me about this era is the transition that’s taking place throughout English society. Unmasked is a series about a group of four women who try to maintain their independence by owning and profiting from a gaming hell, which is a reflection of the struggle women faced later in the century for equal rights.

To be honest, the thing that most appeals to me about the 20s is that it’s different. I’m really enjoying all the research into a new time period and discovering all the different aspects that made that decade fascinating. Here there is also a struggle of transition between society before WWI and post-WWI, and it’s also a great period to explore the changing perspective in women’s sexuality. My own 1920s series, The Golden Twenties, will feature stories based in London, New York, and Chicago, so readers will get to experience this time in history in several important cities.

With both the Victorian era and the 1920s, there’s such rich history to explore that I don’t think I’ll ever run out of ideas. I plan to continue returning to these periods again and again, although I also hope to write in different time periods in the future as well.

Jenn: I think the intrigue that surrounds a nation that has recently come through a major conflict would be an amazing thing to explore so I’m looking forward to seeing what you do there. I’m also excited that you’ll be visiting other countries in the 20s not just USA, I always think of New York and Chicago, of course, when I consider that era, so Paris and London will be great!

Do you have a particular character that haunts you? Is there someone in one of your books who is pounding at the door to your imagination and won’t let up?

Elise: Yes, there is, and he’s been haunting me since early 2010. His name is Frederick, and he’s the hero to Emma Whitlock in the fourth book of my new Unmasked series, titled BEAUTY AND THE VILLAIN. Emma is a writer, and one day a man shows up out of the shadows who looks almost exactly like the current villain she’s writing. To say I’m anxious to write this story would be a great understatement.

Jenn: Oh that sounds incredible!! What about someone else’s books? Are there any characters that have touched you so deeply that they stick in your memory?

Elise: Oh, definitely. Usually the authors who write these kinds of characters become my auto-buy authors. Meredith Duran especially is an author who writes compelling, complex characters who live with you for a while. Nell and Simon, the heroine and hero in her recent A LADY’S LESSON IN SCANDAL, are characters I plan to revisit soon because I loved them so much.

Jenn: Elise thank you SO much for joining me today and giving us a little preview into the new you!! I simply can’t wait for this coming year for you, and by default, for US as readers!! Any closing comments?

Elise: I’d love to hear what you think, dear readers! Who is the most memorable romance hero or heroine you’ve read recently, and why? I’ll be giving away a digital copy of the novella from my Unmasked series, THE SINNING HOUR (as soon as it releases) to one random commenter (open internationally). Thanks for visiting with me today!

Find Elise on the Web:

www.eliserome.com

www.twitter.com/eliserome

www.facebook.com/eliseromeauthor

**GIVEAWAY**

Elise Rome has generously offered to giveaway a digital copy of her novella, THE SINNING HOUR to 1 lucky comment who answers her question in the comments AND fills out the raffle copter widget below.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Release Day Interview...in reverse! With Jenn LeBlanc & Delilah Marvelle (+ Giveaway)

2012-01-03T03:47:00.001-05:00

So you guys know how I usually invite authors on the blog on their release day for an interview, right? Well, TODAY is Jenn LeBlanc's release day; but instead of ME interviewing HER, SHE will be interviewing someone ELSE! The Lovely Delilah Marvelle. This is part of her"The Wicked Blog Tour". Both ladies are incredible authors, so sit back at your computer desk, relax, and enjoy the crazy-brilliantness!!

Getting Down to Business:

Who's Jenn LeBlanc?

"Jenn has several constants in life that define her: Colorado, Canon, CJ, kids and curls.

Where can I find her?

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

THE RAKE AND THE RECLUSE Part two finds Francine in the world of the Duke of Roxleigh. The clashing of worlds in first installment of the completely revised novel continues as Francine finds her footing, discovers secrets about her elusive host, and learns more about herself than she ever thought possible.

Francine Larrabee woke up on the wrong side of the century. She was fairly certain she went to sleep in her own comfy bed, but she doesn’t quite seem to be there now. Only adding to her problems is that she has no voice, is constantly being glowered at by a large, stunning man who is obsessed with propriety, and she is apparently betrothed to another horrid little man, determined to ruin her, and any other girls that get in his way.
How does she find herself in the past, when she couldn’t even find herself in her present? How does a self sufficient businesswoman survive in a time when women were still considered property for the whole of their lives and what is she going to do with this man who draws her to him so fiercely.

How do I get my copy now, Now, NOW?

Amazon (Kindle)

All Romance eBooks (digital ecopy)

Barnes and Noble (Link coming soon!)

Who's Jenn Interviewing Today?

Delilah Marvelle

Delilah Marvelle spent her youth studying various languages, reading voraciously, and playing the pianoforte. She confesses that here ends the extent of her gentle breeding. She was a naughty child who was forever torturing her parents with countless adventures that they did not deem respectable. Confined to her room on many occasions due to these misadventures, she discovered the quill and its amazing power. Soon, to the dismay of her parents, she rather enjoyed being confined to her room and finished writing her first historical romance (which was a heart stopping 800 pages long...) at the age of 14. You can visit her at her website at www.DelilahMarvelle.com or her blog that explores the naughtier side of history at www.DelilahMarvelle.blogspot.com

And it begins...

Chatting Up Delilah Marvelle with Jenn LeBlanc

Hello my lovelies! Welcome to Not Another Romance Blog. Rita thank you SO much for hosting my Wicked Blog tour! I’m thrilled to be wandering the interwebs and spewing forth my historical goodness...wait that didn’t sound very appetizing did it? Let me try that again.

Thank you, Lady Rita, ever so kindly for allowing me to hijack your blog to chat with some of my favorite authors! (Better? YAY!)

My first victim guest is the über fabulous Delilah Marvelle. Delilah has three series out there right now, The Gallantry Series, The Scandal Series and her latest, The Rumor Series. I can’t begin to tell you how much I adore her writing. Not just because she is a dirty dirty girl, but because she is such a talented wordsmith.

More than that, when she puts her wordsmithing talent to dirty uses, I tend to lose my footing on gym machines, or fall off benches, or wake up my slumbering husband. She is just that brilliant.
If I had to pick a favorite book right now, I couldn’t. Though, if you twist my arm I might say LORD OF PLEASURE. That is the one that had me try to launch myself from the elliptical machine at the gym. Dangerous.

Of course her newest book FOREVER AND A DAY is out, and holy smokin’ hotness Ms. Marvelle. *swoon*

Jenn: Delilah, first tell these readers a little about yourself, in case they don’t know who you are.

Delilah: I write historical romance with a wicked twist, as I like to define it. In particular, my era is the 1830’s. I have a tendency to dig deep into a relationship, which makes some people uncomfortable. But that’s a real relationship. There are aspects of it that will make you blink, snort and want to back away with your hands up, lol.

Jenn: I have to say that while we chat on twitter often, we’ve only actually met once, at RomCon in Denver. You seem so at home with your readers, how much reader interaction do you get in any given year? Are you wont for more?

Delilah: I love people and have always been the sort of girl who loves to meet new people and hang out with everyone. So yes, I feel very much at home with my readers. I know I wouldn’t be where I am without my readers and so I cherish every single moment of it. How much reader interaction do I get in any given year? When I’m writing, not much, because my focus is on my writing and what little time I have left over, with my family. But in between writing, I’m always looking to connect with my readers. I get a lot of email from fans that I always personally respond to, I’m on facebook and twitter and between all these social venues, I interact with my readers a lot. If they want to talk, I’m there to talk. Would I like more? LOL. That’s a catch-22. Because more means less time for writing and my family.

Jenn: I loved your wrap up video from the conference too, it was fun! You seem to really be getting into the video thing, your newest release not only had a prequel novella, FOREVER MINE, but a mini movie as well! How much fun was that?! Tell us a little about the making of it and the two guest stars.

Delilah: I’m finding that writing newsletters isn’t as interactive as sharing clips of my writing world and life with my readers, which is why I’ve gotten into the videos. The Mini Movie was SO much fun. It’s the closest to seeing my books in movie format as I’ll get and it was just thrilling. It was three months in the making. From doing auditions, to getting the script, to the location and costumes and practicing, it was a lot of work. And we only had one day to shoot on the location itself. So it was a long day once it did come time to shoot. The two guests stars were amazing and so fun to be around. We were laughing the whole day. Cyrus is a black belt and does tricking and acting. He wants to be a stunt man and given his skills, I know he’ll be that and more. Jasmine was just a total sweetheart and threw herself into the role of Augustine as if she were a Hollywood Actress right out of Hollywood. I felt like I was playing with real-life Ken and Barbie. It was awesome!

Jenn: Will you be doing more of these movies in the future?

Delilah: Yes! Though not quite as long. We’ll be keeping them below 3 minutes. I just wanted to do something more sweeping. Bottom line, I’m in love with the filming aspect of bringing my books to life. The next trailer will be for the last book in the Rumor Series, FOREVER A LORD. The hero is a bareknuckle boxer in 1830 New York and London and you better believe I’m looking for an excuse to see guys brawling without shirts on. It’s going to be a lot of fun filming THAT!

Jenn: Oh wow, pugilism. Um..I’d like to help with that in any way. At all. Whatever you need, I’m your girl ;) OK back to the uh... what were we doing? OH! Interview! So...nitty gritty: The Victorian era. Though I suppose I should say brass tacks as it is more etymologically correct for the time period. How difficult is it to write in a different era? Where do your books fall in the Victorian era and what had you choosing this time period? It was the bustle wasn’t it? You were intrigued as to how many things a woman could hide in there, right?

Delilah: Haha, you nailed those brass tacks into that bustle, girl, lol. I write 1830’s, which is more Victorian in feel than Regency. Is it difficult for me to write in a different era? No. I’ve researched the Victorian and Regency era enough to feel comfortable delving into a world that almost feels like an extension of who I am as a writer. I chose the early 1830’s because it’s still not full on Victorian, even though we are beginning to see glimmers of it. The 1830’s was a huge time of social and political change and that’s what ultimately drew me to it. I get to play with the morales and the changing climate of the social classes. It’s absolutely fascinating.

Jenn: Your tag line is “Historical romance just got twisted.” Now, some might think that means that you provide some sort of twist in every book, and others might think you are being a bit wicked...so which is it?

Delilah: It’s both, actually. Wicked and a twist in every book. I want every reader to pick up a book and never know what the heck they’re going to get out of me. The only thing they can count on from me is the wicked. But the twist? I never want them to know what I’ll deliver next. Various reviewers always comment on how different each book in the scandal series was. I don’t want to deliver the same book and the same message every time. That would be boring to write and boring to read, lol.

Jenn: I know we’ve discussed the continuation of The Gallantry Series, is that something you are dedicated to finding a home for? Because one of your future heroes is a virgin, and his character even beyond that makes him so intriguing for me as a reader...

Delilah: After the Rumor series, I plan to delve into finishing the School of Gallantry series. If I can’t find a home for it, I darn well plan to publish it on my own and ensure it’s available in not just e-book format, but print. Either way, yes, the virgin hero is on the horizon. I absolutely loved this series and am excited to revisit and finish the series. Male virgins and all.

Jenn: YAY!! On the subject of characters tell me which one of yours haunts you the most. Is there someone in one of your books who is pounding at the door to your imagination and won’t let up?

Delilah: I would say Marchese Casacalenda from Once Upon a Scandal. He was actually the villain. He’s been pounding on my imagination so much so, that I’m giving him more time by delving into why he is the way he is and who he really is by presenting him to readers more formally in the Rumor Series. They’ll be shocked to find out he’s not what they think he is. I know I was, lol.

Jenn: Does that happen often for you? That your characters refuse to conform to the expected or take you somewhere you never thought they might? (I know my guys quite often make me blush...to the point where I wrestle with my finger hovering over the delete key until I submit to them. Of course one of the statements Gideon made ended up being one of the favorite quotes from the book for my readers...so lesson learned.)

Delilah: Omgosh, yes! It happens ALL the time. Because in the end, they are like real people to us. As you get to know them by writing about them, they surprise you. And though we may question ourselves and why a character behaved in the way they did, just as you said, having that finger hover over that delete button, wanting to change it back to what you thought should be, makes it feel...wrong. They have the right to react the way they want to and we have to step back and allow them to be what they are: people.

Jenn: What about someone else’s books? Are there any characters that have touched you so deeply that they stick in your memory?

Delilah: I would say all of Edith Wharton’s characters have always haunted me. I always wanted so much more for her characters than she ever gave them.

Jenn: Well in the Rumor series you put your own wicked twist on Cinderella, is there a possibility for you to give her characters the more you have yearned for someday?

Delilah: Yes. Totally. I am finding that I put my characters through a lot, much like Edith Wharton, did, only I end up giving them MORE happiness to walk away with. Like I always dreamed of doing.

Jenn: I know your writing (and others’) challenges me to write deeper, stronger, more powerful characters and interactions, and to push the line of what is acceptable in a romance novel. What authors push you to write better? Are there any books have challenged you to revisit a manuscript and really push your creativity and your own boundaries until you have something completely new and different?

Delilah: I would say there are so many amazing authors pushing the genre today. Almost too many to name and I’m so happy to see the genre bending to receive them.

Jenn: *snort* oh..sorry, please continue.

Delilah: For the longest time the romance genre was stuck in white-washing everything. So many subjects were taboo. It was the whole “Oh, we can’t write about that, because it would piss people off” game. I’m not here to piss people off. I’m here to make people FEEL and THINK. That’s all I keep challenging myself at. To reach deeper and dig deeper. My agent, Donald Maass wrote an amazing book FIRE IN FICTION that pushes me to do exactly that.

Jenn: One last question. Your previous series were interconnected, but could also stand alone, the new series looks like it really goes in depth into weaving the books together, how much went into creating the full story line for all the books before writing?

Delilah: Yes, these books are all deeply woven together (much like the Gallantry Series was). How much planning did I do? Hardly any. I knew what I wanted out of the series, I knew the themes I wanted to work with, but otherwise I didn’t know how any of it would come together. I’m fortunate that I have a photographic memory. So I know what I have already written and how things need to fit together. It’s how my mind works. I just finished book 2, FOREVER A LADY, and was astounded as to how things were unfolding and now I have to face how it will all come together with book 3, FOREVER A LORD. It makes it exciting, I’d say. It’s like seeing puzzle pieces before you and making them all fit. It’s what I love about writing.

Jenn: Delilah Delilah. Have I mentioned I have a kitty named Delilah? She is a feisty little thing. I want to say thank you SO much for chatting with me today. It means so much to me. I can’t wait to chat with you again when you Skype in for a reading at Denver Lady Jane’s this month! Congrats on the new releases, I can not WAIT to see what is on your horizon.

Delilah: Heeeelarious to know that you have a cat named Delilah. I won’t even touch on any jokes pertaining to THAT lest I get carried away, lol. Thank you SO much for having me. It is such a joy knowing you and chatting with you! I can’t wait to Skype for Lady Jane’s! I would love to give away a signed copy of FOREVER AND A DAY. All people have to do is answer this one question:

If you were to get lost in any one city (with no name and money), which city would you like it to be and why?

**GIVEAWAY**

Delilah Marvelle has generously offered to giveaway a signed copy of her release, FOREVER AND A DAY to 1 lucky comment who answers her question in the comments AND fills out the raffle copter widget below.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

12 Historical Days of Christmas Winners!!!!!!

2012-01-02T09:00:00.001-05:00

Congratulations to all of the following winners:

Day 12

Sara Lindsey-Kati R

Sherry Thomas-Joanne B

Day 11

Anna Campbell-Na

Theresa Romain-June M

Day 10

Robyn DeHart-Stella E and Winnie P

Ashley March-Shukra D

Day 9

Christie Kelley-Chelsea B

Maya Rodale-Sue P

Day 8

Monica Burns-Phyllis N

Grace Burrowes-Phyllis N, Larisa L, June M, Melanie F, Shukra D, The_Book_Queen, Johanna J and Maureen C

Day 7

Eileen Dreyer-Shukra D

Shana Galen-Jeanne S

Day 6

Lecia Cornwall-Heather F and June M

Vicky Dreiling-Katie L, Shelley B and Winnie P

Day 5

Miranda Neville-Kelly M

Karen Hawkins-Chelsea B

Day 4

Kieran Kramer-Diane S

Jenn LeBlanc-Lisa W

Day 3

Caroline Linden-Gisele A

Isobel Carr-The_Book_Queen

Day 2

Erica Ridley-Maria P

Gayle Callen-Maria D

Day 1

Maggie Robinson Giveaway-The_Book_Queen

Stefanie Sloane-Eli Y

Grand Prize Winner

Barbara E

All winners have been contacted via email. Thank you to all that participated.

On behalf of Dani and myself, we would like to thank ALL of the authors that were gracious enough to not only write super awesome stories but donate books and goodies for our Xmas event. We had a blast and we could not have done it without all of you. So THANK YOU!!

On the 1st Day of Christmas My True Lord Gave To Me...with Stefanie Sloane (+ Giveaway)

2011-12-23T06:15:00.003-05:00

An heir stuck up the Christmas Tree with Stefanie Sloane

The author of the wildly popular Regency Rogues series, Stefanie Sloane credits her parents’ eclectic reading habits—not to mention their decision to live in the middle of nowhere--for her love of books. A childhood spent lost in the pages of countless novels led Stefanie to college where she majored in English. No one was more surprised than Stefanie when she actually put her degree to use and landed a job in Amazon.com’s Books editorial department. She spent over five years reading for a living before retiring to concentrate on her own stories. Stefanie currently resides with her family in Seattle.

The Saint Who Stole My Heart, the fourth installment in the Regency Rogues series, will be released in April 2012.

Find Stefanie Online: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

~*~

Twelfth Night
or
A Story in Which Bernard, a Cat of Questionable Lineage, Risks His Very Life for Love. Not His Love. But the Love of His Mistress. Not for Him. But for… Oh, Just Read the Story and See for Yourself.
by Stefanie Sloane

Sheldon, Derbyshire County

1815

A full Dorset moon sailed high in the winter sky, its’ cool, clear light illuminating the snow-covered Warren estate and the graveled garden walk next to a tall oak tree.

Lady Annabell Warren peered up at her cat Bernard where he clung to a thick branch of the mature tree. Though his full, furry face was hidden in shadow, the annoyance mixed with trepidation in his mournful feline plea was unmistakable. He was stuck. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. Good and stuck.

“I told you so, did I not?” she ventured, stamping her foot in the snow. The superior statement did little to ease her irritation. Nor did it alleviate the numbness threatening to overtake her extremities.

Annabell looked down at her now damp, ruined satin slippers and felt as though she could cry.

Oh, it wasn’t the shoes that squeezed at her heart, though they’d been pretty enough.

No, she admitted reluctantly. Her tender heart was due to the appearance of Rafe Somerset, the Earl of Wexley. Annabell had successfully avoided her neighbor for most of her family’s annual winter ball. Unfortunately, the guests could speak of little else but the earl’s presence and the rumor that the heir of Wexley Hall had come home to take a wife.

“Silly, blasted cat,” Annabell ground out, shaking her fist at Bernard. As to whom the earl would choose for his bride? Well, that appeared open for debate.

But one truth was universally acknowledged: Annabell was not in the running. Her older sister Amelia was everything that an earl would want in a wife. And while Annabell was perfectly adequate in every way, she was not Amelia.

There was no reason for her to hold out any hope. Despite the fact that the two had been dear friends for as long as she could remember. Even though he’d placed a chaste yet all together thrilling kiss on her cheek before disappearing into the wilds of Scotland last fall. Regardless of Annabell’s deep affection for the man. Deep, abiding affection. Affection?

“You love him, you ninny,” she admitted to herself out loud. “Call it what it is. You love--”

“Love who?”

Startled, Annabell spun on her heels and slipped on the icy walk. For one awful, terrifying moment, she was certain she would fall.

Rafe caught her arms and steadied her. “My life has been rather lacking in excitement of late, but you shouldn’t feel the need to endanger yourself on my behalf.”

“What are you doing out here?” she demanded, too taken aback to be polite. He hadn’t released her and the silk bodice of her gown brushed against his elegant green waistcoat. Held so near to him, each breath she drew carried the faint scent of soap and masculine cologne. His tall, solid form fairly radiated heat that beckoned her closer. She wanted to curl against his warmth as she shivered yet again.

“Saving you, apparently,” he said dryly, his lips quirking with amusement.

“Meow-w-w-w-w.”

Bernard’s demanding yowl drew Rafe’s gaze upward. Annabell, too, looked skyward and found her cat glaring down at her.

“I see the old man is still alive?” Rafe asked mildly. “And fit to be tied, from the sounds of it.”

Annabell sighed deeply. Bernard was six, hardly ancient for a cat. But in his short time on earth, he’d already managed to use up fourteen of his nine lives. Annabell was by no means a mathematician, but even she knew the cat was tempting fate. “Honestly? I believe he enjoys vexing me.”

“I would have to agree,” Rafe commented with a wince as Bernard let out another long, wavering howl. “I’ll fetch him for you, Bell.

Bell. She’d always been Bell to Rafe. Truth be told, he was the only one she’d ever allowed to call her such. It had always made perfect sense, the sound of her pet name ringing false whenever it was uttered by anyone else.

Would he still call her Bell once he was married? She had no right to expect so. No right to expect anything, Annabell supposed. Such a privilege would belong to his wife. His painfully pretty and accomplished wife, if Annabell’s luck was to continue along its rather lackluster path. It was maddening. And even worse, completely out of her control.

Suddenly, Annabell wanted to be anywhere else but where she was.

She fixed Rafe with a pleasant smile, the effort almost more than she could bear. “The entire county, nay, the entire country, would have my head on a pike should you plunge to your death on my behalf. No thank you.”

“I will use the utmost care,” Rafe assured her gravely. “And I highly doubt that the entire country would mourn my death.” He winked conspiratorially then grasped a lower branch and swung himself up.

Annabell’s breath caught as he moved quickly from branch to branch until he was just below Bernard’s precarious perch.

“Is that so,” she replied, suddenly emboldened by the utter sense of defeat she felt as he balanced on a frosty branch. “Well, I feel it is my duty to inform you of just what you’ll be up against, my lord. Your extended stay in Scotland only made the eligible young ladies of England that much more hungry to compete for the heir to the Wexley name. They are all but salivating at the sight of you here tonight.”

With one swift, dexterous move, Rafe caught Bernard by the nape of the neck and lifted him free of the branch. The big cat twisted for a moment in protest, then seemed to think better of it and settled in against the man’s chest. “And you, Bell. What about you? Did you salivate at the sight of me?”

Annabelle considered his words as Rafe carefully made his way down the tree. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

Rafe didn’t release his grip on the feline until he stood once more on solid ground. Then he bent over and set Bernard on the snowy walkway at Annabell’s feet. “Do you know why I stayed so long in Scotland?”

Bernard stretched lazily, then stood next to Annabell, his tail flicking back and forth as he gazed up at the two.

“You are full of questions this evening, my lord,” Annabelle replied, staring into Rafe’s bottomless blue eyes.

He took her hand in his and rubbed the pad of his thumb across her knuckles. “I was choosing a wife.”

Her heart constricted further, her breath catching as she searched his beloved, handsome features. “Then the gossipmongers were correct” she managed, barely knowing what she said. “You’ve come home to claim your bride.”

“I have,” he assured her solemnly. “Though it’s rather the other way around. You see, Annabell, every waking thought I had while in Scotland—and most of my dreams, as well—were claimed by you. And only you.”

“What are you telling me?” she murmured, her head seemingly filled with an abundance of light, crystallized snowflakes. The world dropped away and Annabell felt anchored to earth only by the warm clasp of his hands around hers.

“Do you think you have room in your heart for me, Bell?” Rafe asked, his voice raw with emotion. “You would make me the happiest of men if you would consent to take me on.”

“Take you on?” she squeaked, reeling from the possible meaning in his words.

His full lips curved in affectionate amusement. “I’ve been unclear, I see. Let me start anew. Lady Annabell Warren, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Annabell felt the world spin and the flurry of snowflakes in her head began to dance merrily. She threw her arms around his neck. Rafe wrapped his arms around her waist and bent his head as she went up on her toes to meet him. He claimed her lips with a soft, sensuous kiss that threatened to befuddle Annabell further.

“Oh, my,” she murmured moments later, her flushed face tucked against the warm column of his throat, just below his jaw. “You’re not to call me Annabell ever again. Is that clear?”

The deep, masculine chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Is that a yes, then?” he teased.

“Yes, my lord,” she said demurely. “I’ll gladly take you on, though I feel I must tell you that Bernard is nearly the whole of my dowry.”

And when he laughed and kissed her again, Annabell knew with certainty she would never forget this Twelfth Night, nor her cat’s perfect timing.

I really must remember to thank Bernard properly. Perhaps a fish—a very large fish, she contemplated vaguely before Rafe hauled her closer and any thought beyond her future husband disappeared altogether.

###

Want some more of Stefanie Sloane's work?

Possessed of a brilliant mind and a love for puzzles, Dashiell Matthews, Viscount Carrington, is a crucial member of the elite Young Corinthians spy league. Assuming the façade of an addle-brained Adonis, he hunts for a notorious London murderer known as the Rook. When fate causes him to cross paths with Miss Elena Barnes, Dash discovers an enigma that will prove delightfully intoxicating to unravel: a voluptuous beauty as intelligent as she is fearless.

Only the lure of a collection of rare books bequeathed to her family by Dash’s late father could tempt Elena from her cozy rural life to the crush and vanity of London. But if Elena finds his lordship to be the most impossibly beautiful man she’s ever seen, he also seems to be the stupidest. Which made her body’s shameless response to his masterful seduction all the more unfathomable. Yet when she discovers Dash’s mission to track the dangerous Rook, she willingly risks everything—her trust, her heart, her very life—to join him.

PRE-ORDER TODAY! (Coming April 2012):

Amazon (paperback) | Barnes&Noble (paperback)

Amazon (Kindle) | Barnes&Noble (Nook)

**Giveaway**

Stefanie is offering up her first three books to one lucky winner! Open to international shipping. So make sure to leave a comment and fill out the Rafflecopter form below to be entered!

And don't Forget to head over to Ramblings From This Chick and read Maggie Robinson's special holiday scene (plus ener her giveaway)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

**Grand Prize Giveaway**

On behalf of myself, Dani and a whole host of generous and awesome authors, we will be having one BIG Grand Prize given away to 1 lucky winner. The grand prize consists of a mix of books, swag, and lots of other secret goodies. Believe me, you want to enter to win this prize. Just make sure to leave a comment every day on each post on both blogs and fill out that day's grand prize giveaway form on each blog. You can follow THIS link to today's form for this post or fill it out below after you comment.

That's it. Super easy!

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Good Luck everyone and Happy Holidays!

On the 2nd Day of Christmas My True Lord Gave To Me...with Gayle Callen (+ Giveaway)

2011-12-22T00:09:00.000-05:00

2 Dukes a Dueling with Gayle Callen

USA Today Bestselling author Gayle Callen writes historical romances for Avon Books.

Gayle's novels have won the Holt Medallion and the Laurel Wreath Award, and finaled in the National Readers Choice Awards. Her books have been translated into over eight different languages. She also writes medievals as Julia Latham for Avon Books.

Gayle resides in central New York, with her husband and three children. Besides writing, she loves to read, sing, and delve too deeply into historical research. Visit her website at www.gaylecallen.com

Find Gayle Online: Website | Twitter | Facebook

*Gayle also writes medieval romances under the pen name: Julia Latham

~*~

Background: Merry Christmas! I enjoyed setting my short story during a London Christmas, where Lady Merry is hoping desperately that all her wishes will come true.

A Duel For Christmas

by Gayle Callen

Gideon had come home at last.

Lady Meriel Copley—Merry to her family—stood unnoticed in the doorway Christmas morning and stared at Gideon Thornton, the Duke of Ashford, home after three years in the cavalry in India. He was the dearest friend of her brother, Philip, the Duke of Staunton, and now he stood surrounded by members of her family, her widowed mother and her younger siblings. The wax tapers perched in the Christmas tree lent a festive glow to the scene. She was glad none of them noticed her, for she could gaze at the smiling Gideon without hiding the love that was surely beaming from her eyes. She’d spent her life longing for him, even as she, an awkward bluestocking, knew she could never have him. He was too handsome, with his dark wavy hair and brilliant blue eyes, his features as chiseled as a statue’s. His face held differences, too, more lines near his eyes, his cheekbones hollow, as if service to his country had altered him. Yet he would return to moving with ease through Society, where she wanted to be buried in her studies and her research. Gideon, as a powerful duke, a horseman and outdoorsman, was meant to be the center of focus, and the woman he’d begun courting three long years ago would be his perfect match. Not Merry.

But she didn’t pity herself. She would be content with their friendship, with the way they could discuss any topic in their letters. Every letter was precious to her, now tied together with ribbons and hidden away in her room. He glanced her way, and his radiant smile seemed to momentarily soften. She returned that smile with one of her own, and they came toward each other, and distantly she realized their families began to meander toward the dining room for Christmas breakfast.

“Merry Christmas, Merry,” he said softly.

The twinkle in those blue eyes faded into an intense look she couldn’t decipher, as if he stared into her very soul. She wanted to gaze at him in wonder, to revel in the special feeling of being with Gideon, but she had more control of herself than that. She reached out both hands to him, but instead of politely taking them, he swept her into an embrace. With a gasp, she felt the warmth and strength of his broad chest, and melted inside. Surely his behavior was because of his long absence from family and home. And it was Christmas. Her toes literally swept the floor before at last he settled her back to her feet, pulling away to look down into her face. And then she saw the mistletoe hanging above his head, and she grew hot with embarrassment, as if she’d be accused of placing it there. He tipped his head back to follow her gaze, and then met her eyes again. They seemed to be in their own little world, a dream she’d awaken from. And then he kissed her.

She’d never been kissed, hadn’t imagined that the gentle warmth of Gideon’s lips could make her shiver and sway with weakness. What was he doing? He’d never been the sort of man to tease.

And then she heard another man clear his throat, and Gideon let her go. Her brother, Philip, stood there, wearing an ominous frown, and she suddenly remembered his reputation for ruthlessness. Sarah, her youngest sister, stood behind, hand over her mouth, eyes wide with shock. The heat of the kiss now changed into one of mortification. Gideon and Philip stared at each other, unsmiling, and she felt trapped between them.

“Philip—” she began.

But with a motion of his hand, he cut her off. Never before had she truly realized that Philip, the brother who’d once teased her with spiders and frogs, was her guardian. She was suddenly frightened.

“Please leave us,” Gideon said solemnly to Philip, who hesitated, his body tense, before stalking from the room.

Merry looked up imploringly. “Gideon, what can you possibly be thinking? They won’t tell anyone about our foolishness. You’ve been gone so long, and we just weren’t thinking—”

He put his fingers lightly over her mouth, and the shock made her words stumble to a halt.

“There were others behind your sister, Merry,” he said gently. “They saw everything. We must do the right thing.”

She frowned at him. “No.”

He answered with a blink. “Excuse me?”

“One kiss, and you’ll allow yourself to be trapped with a woman you don’t love?” She hugged herself, feeling suddenly so cold.

“Trapped?” he echoed, his body stiffening. “Is that what you think?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I won’t marry you, Gideon, and there’s nothing my brother can do to persuade me.” She felt the threat of tears, and knew she couldn’t break down in front of him. So she ran from the drawing room and fled up the stairs. Alone in her room, strangely dry-eyed, she tried to analyze everything that had happened. He’d proposed because he felt sorry for her. And Philip—had he been relieved to at last marry off the sister whose only suitors were impoverished young men or widowers with motherless children?

Gideon was her friend, and she didn’t want to lose that. Somehow she would make him see she’d be fine on her own. She crept back downstairs, past the dining room where she could hear happy Christmas laughter, to the drawing room where the door was ajar. She heard raised voices.

“Of course you’re going to marry my sister!” Philip insisted.

“There will be no wedding,” Gideon answered stiffly. “Let it go, Philip.”

“But the servants might have seen, then all of London will know. I won’t have my sister shamed.”

“I’m not going to marry her.”

Merry covered her mouth in dawning realization. Gideon was taking the blame, trying to protect her from her brother’s wrath.

Coldly, Philip said, “Then, sir, I demand satisfaction.”

She gaped at the door, about to push her way in, when she heard Gideon groan.

“You can’t say it like that—no one will believe you. You sound rehearsed.”

“This is rehearsed,” Philip said, exasperated. “But we’re not going to have to go through with it. She’ll stop it, realize she’s being a fool, and then you’ll be married.”

Merry felt her shock and horror fade away into a momentary bleakness. She didn’t want to marry like this—forced into it for the sake of avoiding scandal. Her anger surged along with her determination. She gave a brisk knock, then pushed open the door. The dukes turned to stare at her, and ignoring the rush of love she felt for them, she hardened her resolve.

She closed the door behind her, leaning back against it and narrowing her eyes at both men. “Have you been talking about me?”

“Of course,” Philip said, giving her a ferocious frown. Then he glanced at Gideon. “He won’t marry you, and I won’t stand for it.”

She shot her own ferocious frown at Gideon, who crossed his arms over his chest as he studied her. She was about to protest that she made her own decisions, when Philip interrupted.

“So I’ve challenged him to a duel, and he’s accepted.”

Gideon shot her brother a look as Philip obviously departed from their agreed-upon plan. He seemed to clench his jaw, straightening to face Philip. “We’ll do it now.”

They both turned to her, and she knew they expected her to protest, to eventually give in. But she wasn’t going to ruin Gideon’s life. “You’re making a mistake,” she said solemnly. “I won’t change my mind. But if the honor of you both is at stake, then I’ll accept your decision. No one should know about this, of course, so I’ll stand in as your second—for both of you.”

Neither of them moved, and she felt a little surge of satisfaction as she brushed past them. “Father kept his dueling pistols here”—she opened a drawer of the massive desk—“and they’re still here. I can even load them for you. Philip, you taught me well.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw them glance at each other, helpless to object without ruining their plans. And then she saw her brother’s little smirk of superiority, the one he always thought he hid so well. He assumed she’d be the one to back down—but he’d be wrong.

She kept her back to them as she loaded the pistols. “Shall we go? I know the perfect place for a duel.”

She swept to her feet and out to the entrance hall, only setting down the pistol box to throw on her cloak. The butler watched wide-eyed as the two men fell in line behind her. The day was overcast, and faint snowflakes had already begun to whiten the grass, but she marched through it, leaving footprints behind. Inside, her emotions were a jumble of anger and humiliation and pride.

Over her shoulder she called, “I hear you should walk ten paces before firing, but that’s surely too far. Neither of you is a very good shot.”

“Merry,” Gideon began in a placating voice.

“Gideon!” Philip interrupted.

She wanted to glare at her brother—did he really think he knew everything about her, that she’d fall into line with whatever he said?

The stables were deserted as the servants gathered in the mansion for their own Christmas feast. The yard beyond, between the stables and the coach house, was barren but for the thin coating of snow.

With cold fingers, she undid the clasp and opened the box. “Choose your weapon.”

When Gideon hesitated, Philip narrowed his eyes and said, “After you.”

Gideon sighed and gave her a resigned look. “I’m not doing this.”

“What’s wrong?” she demanded, struggling to keep the emotion from her voice. “You obviously don’t mind hurting me, or you’d never have agreed to this ridiculous duel. And who are you both to assume I can’t defend my own honor?” She pulled out a pistol, dropping the box to the ground, backing away, and aiming at them both.

Gideon watched her solemnly, while Philip put up a hand. “Now, Merry, you can’t—”

She pulled the trigger, and they both jumped at the small explosion.

“You missed!” Philip said with astonishment.

“I didn’t miss—there wasn’t a bullet, you fool!”

Gideon’s sudden smile turned into a chuckle.

“Stop laughing!” she demanded. “How dare you two think such a foolish scheme would make me alter my life with something so permanent as marriage?”

Philip groaned and said with disgust, “That’s it, I’m going back to Christmas dinner. You two deserve each other.”

He stalked away, leaving her alone with Gideon, who still wore a tender smile that made tears flood her eyes.

“How could you do this, Gideon?” she whispered. “You know I’m not the sort of woman who would marry a man in love with someone else.”

His smile disappeared and he seemed almost urgent as he took her shoulders in his hands. “Is that what you really think?”

“Think? I know! You were courting Lady Augusta when you left, and she spoke about you to me every chance she could.”

He winced. “She was using you to press her suit. Before I left I’d told her that I didn’t love her, and she was convinced I’d return a changed man.”

Suddenly bewildered, Merry said, “She never married in all these years. I can’t believe…” Her words trailed off. She relived her memories of Lady Augusta, and now saw a subtle desperation she’d mistaken for sadness at being parted from Gideon.

“And how could I write about this in my letters to you?” he demanded, giving her a little shake. “All I ever heard about was Mr. Fogge and your work together. I thought you’d found a kindred spirit, a man who could share your intellectual pursuits more than I could.”

“Mr. Fogge?” she echoed in disbelief. “He could be my grandfather!” She saw the spark of hope that lit Gideon’s blue eyes, felt the flicker of her own deep inside. “But if you really feel something for me, why didn’t you just tell my brother you didn’t care about the scandal of kissing me?”

“I was supposed to tell your brother I was so filled with longing at the sight of you that I could barely breathe?”

Her own breath caught in a gasp as she gazed up at him.

“I was supposed to tell your brother that I love you, before I even told you?” he continued, practically lifting her to her toes as he pulled her close.

She whispered his name, tears falling in earnest.

With gentle fingers, he wiped them away. “Your letters made every dangerous moment in India worthwhile. At night I would reread them over and over and pretend I was with you.”

“Oh Gideon!” She flung her arms around his neck.

They clung to each other, snow falling softly, masking the sounds of London but for their breathing.

At last he lifted his head and framed her face in his hands. “So will you marry me, Merry?”

She laughed through her tears. “Oh, yes, Gideon.”

“Then it will be a Merry Christmas after all.” He kissed her again.

###

Want some more of Gayle Callen's work?

Who is the lady setting London astir?

All is about to be revealed...

Notorious rake Leo Wade is not one for house parties--he'd much rather pass the time in London's gaming halls...and ladies' boudoirs. But when his gambling instinct leads him to believe the enchanting and utterly impossible Miss Susanna Leland is the anonymous model of a shockingly immodest painting...he braves country tedium for a chance to prove the lady's secret.

With one foot already firmly planted on the shelf, Susanna cares not a fig for propriety. But even she never imagined she'd become caught up in a ridiculous game of cat and mouse, and certainly not with the most wicked man of her acquaintance! Susanna has absolutely no intention of letting Leo confirm his suspicions, no matter how persuasive he can be.

Until sweet temptation becomes too much to bear, and they both learn that the price of trust may just be worth every scandalous secret.

Pick It Up Today!:

Amazon (paperback) | Barnes&Noble (paperback)

Amazon (Kindle) | Barnes&Noble (Nook)

Note: EVERY SCANDALOUS SECRET, Gayle's latest release, is available in ebook format at a reduced price of $4.99 on Amazon! And a back list title of hers, NEVER DARE A DUKE, is also on sale in ebook format for $1.99 via Amazon!!

Also note, that Gayle' next Victorian, RETURN OF THE VISCOUNT, will be available July 2012.

**Giveaway**

Gayle will be giving away 1 copy of IN PURSUIT OF A SCANDALOUS LADY, the first book of her Scandalous Lady trilogy to 1 lucky commenter!!! Make sure to leave a comment with your answer and fill out the raffle copter form below to be entered!

Don't Forget to head over to Ramblings From This Chick and read Erica Ridley's special holiday scene (plus ener her giveaway)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

**Grand Prize Giveaway**

That's it. Super easy!

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Good Luck everyone and Happy Holidays!

On the 3rd Day of Christmas My True Lord Gave To Me...with Isobel Carr (+ Giveaway)

2011-12-21T17:29:00.003-05:00

3 French Courtesans with Isobel Carr

Isobel Carr is an avid costume historian and grew up in the wild and entertaining re-enactment community in Northern California. She has participated in everything from The Society for Creative Anachronism to the Renaissance Pleasure Faire (yes, the original one!) to Heyer Con and The Great Dicken's Christmas Fair. So she's made and worn clothing from just about every era from 1400-1900, including the proper undergarments.
Currently, she lives with her mastiff, Clancy, in a 1916 bungalow in Oakland, California and when she's not writing, she's usually working on the house. She's also often found at the Heart and Dagger near Lake Merritt. Just look for the girl with the giant dog.

You can find out more about her by visiting her at isobelcarr.com.

Find Isobel Online: Website | Blog on History Hoydens | Twitter | Facebook

~*~

3 Courtesans
by Isobel Carr

“You don’t like Frenchwomen, my lord. Remember?” Elise raised her brows just enough to imply disdain and stared the Duke of Normanby’s second son down. Her stomach fluttered and her throat went dry. He’d been in a rage the last time she’d seen him. Angry with his father, annoyed with her, furious that the world wouldn’t bend to his will.

Lord George stared right back at her, dark eyes narrowing behind thick lashes as he held her gaze. He filled the narrow corridor of The Crown and Anchor, wide shoulders and long legs barring her way. The urge to step back from him was nearly irresistible. He loomed. An easy enough thing to do considering he topped her by more than a foot, but somehow it was an active thing when he did it, rather than a mere result of their heights.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” he said as she forced herself to push past him. Her skirts tangled with those of his greatcoat, clinging, impeding her progress. Elise inhaled sharply and yanked them free.

Three quick steps and Elise could hear voices from the public tap room. The gruff cacophony of a dozen English voices. Strange to her ears even after several years in their capital. She swung about to enter the private parlor she and her friends had reserved in advance. Elise’s hand tightened around the knob, the urge to slam the door in Lord George’s face rushed through her veins, heady as hot wine.

Before she could do so, Lord George strolled in after her, as though he had the right to command its use—to command her. Elise glanced over her shoulder as Lord George shut the door with an indelicate swing of his booted foot.

“I believe, my lord,” Elise said, “it might have been hearing you say so that left me with such a clear impression of your dislike. On more than one occasion if memory serves.”

She didn’t wait to see if her barb had struck. Instead, she hurried towards the fireplace and the welcoming glow of the coals. She’d hoped to find her friends waiting for her, not Lord George. Adele and Ghislaine must still be resting. Or they’d discovered Lord George was there and were avoiding him. Wise of them, if so.

The floorboards creaked as Lord George followed close behind her. The coals popped and Elise whisked her skirts away from a stray ember. She ground it out beneath her shoe.

“I’m fairly certain what you heard was a complaint about one particular French woman.” The deep rumble of his voice worked its way through her, seemed to lodge in her sternum.

Elise poured herself a glass of brandy from the decanter the mantel, purposely failing to offer her uninvited guest a glass of his own. “A maddening creature with a Gallic temper?”

“As fate would have it, yes. Fairly good aim, too.” He rubbed a long scab that cut across his forehead and disappeared into his hairline. There was a faint halo of a bruise around it, a hint of lavender that would bloom to purple black in the coming days.

“You must have provoked her.” Elise dropped into one of the chairs that were drawn up to the fireplace. She stroked her free hand over her skirts, smoothing the plain kerseymere over her knees.

Lord George smiled, his eyes still grim. “Constantly, I’m afraid.”

He moved to pour himself a glass of brandy. Elise studied him in the failing light. He appeared to have ridden hard, his boots and the skirts of his greatcoat were spattered with mud. His queue was tangled, the bow reduced to a straggling knot. Whatever she’d expected after parting his hair with the heel of her shoe, it hadn’t been this.

***

Geo tossed back the entire contents of the small glass of brandy and allowed himself a moment to savor the burn as it slid down his throat. He set the glass back down on the mantel and braced his shoulders against the length of plain wood. Elise watched him warily from the embrace of a somewhat battered wingback chair.

You’d never know she’d left London in a mad scramble, half her possessions scattered across the floor of the house they shared in Queen’s Street. He’d left for a few hours to give her time to calm down, and come home to an empty house and a babbling, hysterical valet.

At the moment, Elise looked every inch the proper young matron, perfection from her artfully-arranged dark curls to the silk bows of her kidskin shoes. Even the simple coral necklet about her throat spoke of moneyed elegance and tasteful restraint.

It was a beautifully constructed lie. Until a week ago, she’d been the most dazzling courtesan England had seen since Kitty Fisher.

“The rest of your things should arrive in time for the morning packet,” he said.

Elise blinked. “I took everything that was mine.”

Geo ground his teeth. The urge to yank her out of that chair and drag her home made his hands shake. He shoved them into the deep pockets of his greatcoat. A show of force wouldn’t melt her resolve. He’d pushed too far; demanded too much.

“Did you?” He let the question hang in the air. Elise nodded and raised her drink to her lips with a slightly unsteady hand. Confusion flickered in her eyes, followed by a flash of concern as he pushed away from the mantel and stepped toward her. Geo dropped to one knee beside her chair. “Because I’d say you left something rather important behind.”

The pinched look of concern left her eyes and one corner of Elise’s mouth quirked up. Geo bit his cheek to keep from grinning back at her. He knew that smile. He was forgiven, or as close to as he was ever likely to get.

“You’re right,” she said, leaning in until her lips nearly brushed his cheek and the faint scent of primrose enveloped him. “I forgot—”

Geo captured her mouth with his, cutting off whatever quip she was about to make. She sloshed the dregs of her brandy across the back of his coat and her glass fell to the floor.

“Yes, you forgot,” he said when he finally broke off the kiss. “Forgot you can’t go running off to the Continent without your husband.”

“No?” She hung back, arms wrapped about his neck.

“No.” Geo swung Elise up and sat, pulling her into his lap. “Though if you were to ask, he might agree to accompany you.”

“Lord George?”

“Yes, Lady George?”

“Would you like to escape your father, the gossips, and the disapproving ton, and run away with me to Paris for Christmas?”

“Paris is a good start,” Geo said, settling back into the chair, their collective weight causing it to creak in protest. “But I was thinking of going a bit farther, being gone a bit longer. What would you say to spring in Italy, summer at Lake Geneva, autumn in the Levant?”

Elise chuckled. “You were thinking that we should roam about the world until London finds something more scandalous to entertain them. And if they never do?”

“Don’t be daft, woman. The Prince of Wales, or one of his siblings, will eclipse us before we’ve even made it to Rome.”

###

Want some more of Isobel Carr's work?

No one would ever suspect Lady Boudicea "Beau" Vaughn, a well-bred, young heiress, of secretly harboring unladylike desires. The object of her affection: Gareth Sandison, a notorious rake and her brother's best friend. Beau knows her brother would never approve, yet one glance into Gareth's smoldering eyes stirs a longing deep inside her.

The second son of an Earl, Gareth has always known the lovely Lady Beau is above his station. But when she is kidnapped, Gareth sees a chance to prove his worth and plans a daring rescue. Soon he and Beau are on the run. Yet Beau's abductors are not the only threat-passion pursues the pair at every turn. Long nights fuel forbidden fantasies, and with danger closing in, Gareth and Beau will finally give

in to the ultimate temptation...

Pick It Up Today!:

Amazon (paperback) | Barnes&Noble (paperback)

Amazon (Kindle) | Barnes&Noble (Nook)

**Giveaway**

Isobel will be giving away signed copies of her two books, RIPE FOR PLEASURE and RIPE FOR SCANDAL to commenter!! Make sure to leave a comment with your thoughts on the scene and fill out the raffle copter form below to be entered!

Don't Forget to head over to Ramblings From This Chick and read Caroline Linden's special holiday scene (plus ener her giveaway)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

**Grand Prize Giveaway**

That's it. Super easy!

Good Luck everyone and Happy Holidays!

On the 4th Day of Christmas My True Lord Gave To Me...with Jenn LeBlanc (+ Giveaway)

2011-12-20T05:03:00.005-05:00

4 Horny Lords with Jenn LeBlanc

Jenn LeBlanc has several constants in life that define her:

Colorado, Canon, CJ, kids and curls.

Born and raised in a household of other people's children in this beautiful state —very nearly with a camera in hand— she never left. She talked about escaping; but that never happened. She started her own family, got used to the curls, went to college, built a CJ, and started a business, all with a camera in hand.

She always had another passion. Storytelling, born from daydreams and nightmares. Her fingers were not as quick as her mind, and no amount of practice got them there. Then her second daughter was born, and her inherent traits kept Jenn pinned to the spot, her only escape the keyboard. Spending her days in parenting chat rooms, she can still type fast with just one hand.

Jenn lives and thrives off chaos and the constant flow of the creative process. She is currently working on illustrations for another novel.

Find Jenn Online: Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook

~*~

My name is Jenn and I am the author and photographer behind THE RAKE AND THE RECLUSE, an ILLUSTRATED romance. Yes. Illustrated, with photographs. The most exciting thing happens TODAY...TODAY!!! And I get to share it here with ALL OF YOU which makes me so happy because Rita is one of the most wonderful and amazing bloggers out there. She has been such a great support and friend, and I can't wait to hang out with her again like we did last year at RomCon. Did she share the picture I took of her with Derek? Perhaps if you nag her she will. ;) (Rita: Never. But pretty sure the readers can find it by googleing: "crazed pervy fan goes into cardiac arrest when met with the object of her visual fascination")

Background: This scene focuses on the Rake, Perry, and his friend Ender. It takes place soon before his brother, the esteemed Duke of Roxleigh, the hero from THE RAKE AND THE RECLUSE, arrives in London after nearly trampling a girl with his horses. Ender will be appearing in a new book set to release Spring 2012 titled BETWEEN A FRIEND AND FOREVER.

All I Want For Christmas Is A Lord Under The Tree

by Jenn LeBlanc

Perry’s brother should be coming soon because he had been directed to procure a wife post haste. Her Royal Highness wanted to ensure his line continued in the right hands, and for that Roxleigh—His Grace Gideon Alrick Trumbull, 10th Duke of Roxleigh that is—his dear brother, would be attending the season.

What fun. He looked forward to making the rounds with his reclusive elder. His brother was such a stickler for propriety, he wanted—no, needed—to loosen him up a bit.

He pondered the way of things. Simple timing made his brother the heir, and he the spare. But would he have it any other way? He looked to the mass of hair bobbing in his lap. No, most likely not. His honor would keep him from having much fun in life, as his brother's honor had done to him.

Perry supposed he had been rather unpaticipatory and groaned a bit then shifted. She smiled up at him, her warm mouth wrapped quite soldily around his cock. He watched her tongue play around his shaft behind her teeth. There it is, he groaned in earnest and his head fell back.

"That's the thing there Love, oh yes. Quite." he shifted further into her and took a handful of hair. "Oh no, less teeth if you please, dear." He tensed and looked back down to the excited bob of curls with a broad grin.

No, he most definitely was spared by not being born the heir. He felt a tingle start in his toes and he curled them in his boots, then pressed them into the floor as it spread up his nerves and he moved a hand to her nape to slow her movements. "There Love, ah...with your tongue just a—" he grunted and tensed then shifted his seat again leaning back a bit as his thighs bunched forcing his hips from the chair. He held her curls and her nape, thrusting just so as he spent himself.

The woman leaned back on her knees, one finger tracing her lips before tucking between them and smiling up at him. "Well My Lord, I have missed you," she said quietly.

He opened one eye on her, "Since last eve? is that so?"

"Aye My Lord, twas only last night, but you're better to me than most will be. At least I know you have no honorable intentions toward me."

He winced then reached for the placket of his trousers and arranged himself and stood, setting himself to rights. "Well my love, let us find someone who will do right by you. I've no doubt we could find a gentleman in need of a wife with your particular...tastes."

She laughed. "There's no need for that, I've already lived my love story. I'm a rich woman and I can live as I please now—that is all that matters to me. What of you my dear Trumbull, have you any prospects?"

He stood. "Dear me no! And give up my nightly tryst with the most beautiful woman in all of London?" She stood and put her breasts away as he watched, then she smacked his cheek. "Pardon, was I staring again? Such a perfect bosom should not be hidden from eyes." His hands twitched forward as if to give them one last good squeeze, but they fell short when she turned.

"Do attempt to behave properly won't you? It won't do for me to stare at your wonderful cock all night, I expect the same courtesy."

Trumbull felt his eyes widen. Thought they might just escape his head for a moment so wide they were. She turned for the door, "Please give me ten minutes dear boy. It won't suit to be seen rejoining the party too soon behind me."

"Behind you then, perhaps next time—"

She clucked her tongue and swept through the door. He followed much later, perusing the Marchioness’ library for a while before determining it has been long enough for her to be settled in the ballroom.

He walked slowly toward the doors of the ballroom only to be intercepted by his old friend Hugh Garrison, The Right Honourable Baron Endsleigh. “Ender!”

“Damn me Perry but this rout is a pain. Are you quitting? Let’s head for The Bottoms.”

“Well, I wasn’t intending to, however—”

Ender took his shoulder and turned him for the door. “Is your carriage here? Mine is...indisposed.”

Perry stopped and turned to him. “Indisposed? If you be here, then who be indisposing your carriage my friend?” he said with a cockney accent.

Ender grunted. “Agatha, the trollop.”

Perry laughed. “You realize she is only using your carriage to make you jealous.”

“Please, nothing could be further from the truth. That woman has every man she wants and is still allowed in society. Why is beyond me, but there it is. She has no need for another husband. It would weigh her down.”

“Yet you allow her your carriage?”

“She is a friend.”

“Would you allow me your carriage?”

“God no man, you would have the springs out by noon tomorrow. It cannot nearly handle your traffic.” Ender winked.

Perry gaped. “Well, then that leaves us with the Bottoms, though I’m not much sport.”

“Oh? The Marchioness has you spent already does she?”

“Damn it all Ender lower your voice.” Perry grumbled as he waved on his coachman. “And what of you and the chit you’ve been chasing? Isn’t she due out soon?”

“Amelia, yes. Soon.” His friends eye clouded and Perry shoved him at the carriage.

“Listen there’ll be none of that tonight, if you must pull me from the bosom of the most wonderful tease in London I won’t spend the night trapped in maundering.”

Ender grinned, “There’s a new girl at the Tip n’ Whistle.”

“You don’t say? Well, you’ve not a chance Ender, no doubt the ladies have already informed her of me.” He waggled his brows and grinned, realizing in the dark carriage the moment was entirely lost. The rumbled along the London streets, the wheels crossing deep troughs made by the recent snow.

“I have no doubt they’ve informed her of your exploits, and she will choose to stay far from you. On that note— no crossing swords tonight.”

“There was entirely too much wine involved that night, must you continually bring it up?”

“Yes, to be sure. I’ve no idea why the women swoon at you, waking up next to you was kin to waking up next to a tiger, all bad breath and growling.”

Perry elbowed him in the kidney. “You were three women separated from me in that bed.”

“I was and yet I was offended!” Ender shifted and pushed Perry away as he chuckled. “Damn me but I do need a night of two much wine and not enough memory.”

Perry eyed him, “as long as you keep the women between us I am game for... nearly anything.”

***

Perry shifted on the soft blanket, then frowned at the wet chill against his back. He opened one eye against the bright light of day and attempted to assess his surroundings.

"What the bloody hell?" He looked up through the branches of a very full evergreen, then rubbed his eyes. Monumental mistake number one: following Ender to the Bottoms. He groaned and flipped over to his knees, attempting to avoid the low branches of the tree as he made his way out into the park. Ah Grosvenor, not far from home then.

He looked back to the tree, wondering if anyone else was hidden beneath the boughs when he saw a streak of pink careening across the park, away from him. Oh dear.

He looked down to find himself relatively intact, even his cravat in attendance, though terribly askew. He would call on Ender later today, find out what tree he had crawled out from under. He wandered toward his townhouse, ever wary of prying eyes. The sun was bright but rather low, so he was hopeful it would only be talk amongst servants, and not peers.

As he entered his townhouse, his eyes scanned, looking for evidence that they had ended up here...before the park. Merry bloody Christmas. Nothing seeming out of place he vaulted the stairs and went straight to bed, with white sheets of linen this time, instead of snow.

###

Want some more of Jenn LeBlanc's work?

A woman out of time.
A man stifled by propriety.

A nemesis determined to take her away.

A brother to the rescue.

How will a powerful Duke deal with a woman who doesn't know her place? How will a woman used to the 21st century survive in time where she is considered property?

This is PART ONE of a SIX PART SERIAL NOVEL. They have to be read in order to get the story. If you have already read THE RAKE AND THE RECLUSE- this is completely re edited with new scenes. (However, if you do not want to re-read, you can pick up the story at PART FIVE.)

Pick It Up Today!:

Part One in the serial is available on Amazon.com: HERE
or
Try the full first edition of the novel from: Amazon | Barnes&Noble | iBooks

Note: FREEDOM : THE RAKE AND THE RECLUSE : Part One is out today (Just released)!! Only $1.99 via Amazon! The book has been completely re edited with new scenes and being released as it was meant to be, a six part serial novel! YAY!! Be one of the first to own and read part 1 of this exciting, reworked serial novel!

Appearances- Jenn will be attending the RWA conference in 2012 and planning some reader fun either before or after the conference, so stay tuned on her blog, and she's also attending Authors After Dark in New Orleans (more fun stuff planned there), and also currently working on her registration for RomCon which is in Colorado.

**Giveaway**

Jenn: So today I am going to give away something very special, the complete serial novel, in six parts. You will receive it every two weeks when each part is released starting with part one today. The book is an eBook only, that's how it was meant to be read. I've included a few images for the story too. Because THAT is what I do.
Make sure to leave a comment with your thoughts on her scene and her books if you've read them and fill out the raffle copter form below to be entered!

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Good Luck everyone and Happy Holidays!

On the 5th Day of Christmas My True Lord Gave To Me...with Karen Hawkins (+ Giveaway)

2011-12-19T01:49:00.002-05:00

5 Golden Rings...Stolen By A Highwayman with Karen Hawkins

Karen Hawkins is a NYT and USA Today bestselling author of over 22 fun and lively historical romance novels and two humorous contemporary romances. When not stalking hot Australian actors, getting kicked out of West Virginia (thanks to the antics of her extended family), and adding to her considerable shoe collection, Karen spends her time warming her feet on her two rescue dogs while writing her next book. She lives in Florida and loves to hear from readers at Karen Hawkins, P.O. Box 149924, Orlando, FL 32814-9924

Find Karen Online: Website | Blog | Goddess Blog | Twitter | Facebook

~*~

Seven Highwayman

by Karen Hawkins

Upon which A Gentleman Pirate carrying his Hard-Won Treasures to present to the King to gather his Just Rewards finds himself Importuned upon the highway by Several Gentlemen In Black . . . .

The Great North Highway,
Just north of London
October 12, 1822

The coachman looked down the length of the blunderbuss that was even now trained upon his heart. Fear clogged his throat, but it wasn’t because of the blunderbuss. He eyed the two—no, three, four – Good God, seven highwaymen who had stopped his coach by the simple expediency of cutting down a tree and blocking the road.

Their plan had worked well. He’d had to swerve to keep from running the team into the tree, which had threatened to overset the coach. He’d been so engaged in keeping all four wheels on the ground that he hadn’t seen the highwaymen until they’d already taken their positions around him, their many blunderbusses at ready.

He eyed his own weapon, still tucked uselessly into a leather strap, before he looked at his assailants. “What do ye want?”

“Och, now, ye know wha’ we wants,” said the largest of the ruffians, a hulking man who stood the closest, his Scottish brogue surprising Johnny. The ruffian was a huge man, dressed in plain, dark, and yet common clothes. Despite the man’s enviable size, Johnny found his gaze flickering past the man to the smallest of all of the highwaymen, a small, slender fellow who even now stood at the edge of the road, to one side of the others.

Johnny instantly knew that the slender, wisp of a man was in charge. The man – whose very slightness gave the impression of youth – held himself with a good deal of quiet confidence, his fashionable coat tightly belted about him, the collar tugged so high that it covered his face. His hat was cocked at a rakish angle that left little to view.

“Well?” the large thief demanded.

Johnny dragged his gaze back to the man speaking. “There’s nothing here fer ye. I’ve but one passenger.”

The hulking thief sent the smaller one a questioning look. The smaller man nodded.

The huge thief turned back toward Johnny. “One is all we need, lad. Get down fra’ there and open the door.”

Johnny’s hands fisted. “Open it yerse—“ The blunderbuss was rudely thrust into his face. Hand shaking, Johnny thought of his three children, waiting for him at home, and his dear, plump wife, Lily. He thought, too, of the presents he’d purchased for them – one for each – while waiting for this particular fare to arrive at the docks. It had seemed a propitious beginning to the season, but now Johnny wasn’t so certain.

He’d heard of highwaymen, of course, but in his two years of traversing the roads of England, he’d never once met one. Now, he faced seven.

He swallowed noisily and climbed down from his perch, wiping his damp hands on his overcoat. The hulking highwayman stayed close while five of the thieves took various positions, one at the horses head, two further down the road each direction to watch for other coaches.

Johnny cleared his throat. “Ye’re making a mistake. We’ve but one passenger.”

The slight highwayman chuckled, the sound low and husky. Johnny noted that the rapier the thief held at the ready switched the air every few seconds like a cat’s tail announcing an eminent pounce.

His huge companion, though, said in a deep, rumbling voice, “One is all we need, lad.”

“Yes, but his lordship won’t like being disturbed. H-He’s a very powerful man.” Johnny hoped he was. The man certainly looked as if he might be.

“Och, now, ‘tis a lord, eh?” the big man said in an interested tone.

The highwayman who stood at the horse’s head murmured something to one of the others and a rush of excitement began to swirl through the men that only the sharp, low tone of their leader’s voice brought to an end. “Stand ready, fools.”

The others obediently quieted.

“Move further down the road,” he ordered. “We don’t need a surprise.”

They dispersed as requested and the small ruffian turned back to Johnny. “’Tis not new information, this lord of yours. He’s our Christmas angel, he is, though he doesn’t yet know it.” The slender highwayman swished his rapier through the chilled air. “A plump pigeon for our holiday meal.”

Johnny frowned. The small man’s voice was light and far more genteel than expected. “Ye don’t sound like no highwayman.”

The rapier paused but a moment and then, swifter than lightning, the highwayman moved in front of him.

The giant rumbled a low hiss. “Now, dinna lose yer temper, Mr. Cat.”

“Too late.” The man’s rapier slashed right, left, right, up, down – Johnny couldn’t see the sword for the blur, though he was achingly aware of the icy rush of cold air that flooded over him.

Just as quickly as it started, the highwayman’s rapier paused and the gentleman returned to his original position by the side of the road.

Johnny swallowed hard. He didn’t feel any pain, but he’d heard that a swift stabbing could leave one numb. Slowly, he looked down his front . . . and gasped. His entire coat hung about him in shreds. “B-B-Bloody hell!”

“Your overcoat is ruined,” the highwayman returned, amusement rich in his husky voice as he smoothed his large, fashionable cuffs. “But I didn’t cut a thread of the coat or shirt beneath. Except the buttons, of course. Those, we want.”

The large giant chuckled as he bent and gathered brass buttons from the ground. “Aye, they might be useful.”

Disbelieving, Johnny pushed the shreds aside and examined his broadcloth coat. It was indeed intact, only the buttons gone, each neatly snipped off as if by a pair of sharp scissors. His shirt, and neck cloth, too, had been spared. Not a single thread had been marred by the wicked bland.

He gulped and slowly released the bits of his shredded coat so that they hung free. “What do ye want?” His voice shook as if the cold had possessed him.

The large ruffian gestured to the coach. “I’ve already tol’ ye, ye fool; open the door. Tell the gentleman inside tha’ should he shoot, ‘twill be you as takes the bullet and no’ us.”

Johnny gulped, but he did as he was told, walking cautiously so as not to slip on the muddy road. He approached the door and rapped softly.

No one answered.

Johnny rapped again, only louder. “My lord?” he called, hating the way his voice rattled like a bone in a box.

“Aye?” came a sleepy deep voice.

Good God, has he been asleep the entire time? He’s a cold man, he is. Johnny didn’t know the gentleman in the carriage well. The man had entered the coach with only a few, short words, but in that one moment, Johnny had sensed that his well-dressed passenger was not to be taken lightly. There was something dangerously calm about him, like a snake coiled to strike.

Johnny’d been hired to drive the coach by a man who said he was a ship’s first mate. He’d said a gentleman – his captain – needed to reach London as soon as possible, no questions asked. Johnny had smelled the opportunity to charge more than his usual fare and had eagerly agreed. Indeed, when he’d named his price at treble his usual amount, the man hadn’t even blinked. At the time, it had seemed a fortune, but now, facing the gaze of seven highwaymen, Johnny glumly realized that he’d charged far too little.

Johnny cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, me lord, but ah, there seems to be a problem—“

The blunderbuss was rudely shoved between Johnny’s ribs. “Stop yer blatherin’ and tell the sot t’ open th’ blasted door.”

Inside the coach, Derrick St. John reached into his waistcoat and touched the cloth band about his waist where he’d tied the five thick golden rings adorned with precious rubies and sapphires that he was taking to London. Two would go to the King, but the rest would go to their new owner; a cousin of Derrick’s who dabbled in the sale of precious jewels. With this one sale, Derrick would be able to purchase two more ships for his growing fleet of privateers.

It was a difficult way to make a living, fraught with danger, and bordering so closely on the illegal that at this moment, three different countries had named him a pirate and were offering a reward for his capture. But Derrick had letters of marquee from the King and he knew he was well within his legal rights to plunder hostile foreign vessels. Of course, those rights weren’t accepted by other countries, so should he be caught . . . well, that was a thought best left alone.

He checked his pistols once more, hid them in the folds of his coat, adjusted his silver trimmed waistcoat so that it hid the bundle at his waist, and then called in a leisurely voice, “You may open the door.”

It opened, the outline of his portly coachman filling the opening and preventing him from firing. A blunderbuss was shoved inside over the coachman’s shoulder, causing the man who turn deathly pale.

“Get oot,” said a huge, rumbling voice.

Scottish assailants. Interesting. He climbed down and adjusted his French cuffs, the fine lace shimmering white in the moonlight. As he did so, he glanced about from beneath his lashes, counting the men he saw. Seven men, four so far out of the way as to be useless, one holding the horses and thus unable to reach them within time, which left only two nearby.

All in all, it was an odd set up. Why would the band spread so far out, unless . . . his gaze flickered over the two bandits who were the closest. They know about my prize and want it for themselves. By placing their fellows out of sight and sound, they can take the treasure and split it two ways and not seven. Which is what I would have done, myself.

Still, there was no reason to make this easy for them. He bowed. “Good eve, gentlemen. I suppose I’m well and truly caught. I’ve only a small bag of silver upon me, though you are welcome to it. Shall I toss it your way—”

“You have more than a small bag of silver,” the smaller man said.

Derrick’s gaze narrowed on the man. Here was the leader, then. “I fear I don’t take your meaning,” he said softly.

“And I think you do.” The thief’s eyes were hidden by the brim of his hat and yet they gleamed with challenge so that Derrick could make out the shape of them from this distance. The man had been called Mr. Cat by his companion and the shape of his eyes made that seem appropriate. There was indeed something catlike about the slender man.

The large ruffian jabbed his blunderbuss toward Derrick. “We knows wha’ ye have, Captain, so ye’d best make this easy on us all and gi’ it o’er now.”

Derrick hid a flash of anger at the man’s rudeness. “And if I refuse?”

“This isn’t the Mystic, Captain,” the man said, chuckling as he casually named Derrick’s ship. “Ye aren’t the captain here. Now hand o’er them jewel encrusted rings.”

Derrick’s hand tightened on his cane and he prepared for a fight, his blood warming at the thought. “If you want them, you’ll have to take them.”

He crouched, ready to draw when a hand grasped his arm. Derrick found himself staring into his coachman’s panic-white face. “Please, give them what they wants! I-I-I’ve children, I do, and a wife and if’n I were to die—“

Derrick could smell the fear that hung about the man. Children. Why did he have to mention them?

“Your coachmen makes sense, Captain,” the slight gentleman said. “There are children involved. Innocent little children. How could you deprive them of their father, especially with it being so close to Christmas?”
Derrick slowly uncoiled himself, his jaw aching from where he clenched it. How much do they know of me? He couldn’t afford to wonder about that now, so instead he gave the coachman a reassuring nod. “I’ll not have you harmed.” Derrick turned to the highwayman. “Spare this man and fight me for the rubies. One on one.”

“A fight of honor, eh? A fascinating thought.”

“’Ere now, Mr. Cat,” said the large highwayman, looking alarmed.

The slight thief sent his companion a frustrated glance, but then sighed. “Captain, under normal circumstances, I would relish such a fight, but I fear that I cannot spare the time.”

“You’re just afraid,” Derrick sneered. “Afraid and cowardly.”

The slender man stiffened, his eyes gleaming in the shadows, the rapier suddenly stilled and poised.

“Easy there, Mr. Cat,” the giant warned. “He’s tryin’ to roust ye.” He turned to Derrick. “I’ll vouch for Mr. Cat, I will. He is a powerful force wit’ his blade.”

“You call that a blade?” Derrick eyed the rapier with a dismissive shrug, though there was something about the way the slight ruffian held the thin blade at ready, the tip swishing through the air that gave him pause.

“Aye,” the giant said. “Jus’ ask yer coachman.”

Derrick glanced at the coachman who lifted his arms and showed him the shredded coat. Derrick instantly understood the significance of the expert cuts and he sent the slight ruffian a look of reluctant respect. “It’s an unusual weapon but one you’ve apparently mastered.”

To his surprise, the ruffian returned the bow, and did so with an elegance and grace that bespoke years of practice. “Thank you, St. John.” The man straightened and the tip of the rapier came to the fore once again. “And now, the rings, if you please. I have a schedule to keep.”

Derrick’s jaw tightened. With all of his might, he wanted to fight, but the frightened breathing of the coachman at his side told him how it would end. He has children and I cannot allow them to be orphaned.

No, the best thing Derrick could do was let the fools take the bloody rings, and follow them and steal them back when they least expected it.

He reached beneath his coat and undid the tie that bound the rings to his waist. With a tug, he freed them and tossed them to the ground. “There. Take the damned things. But be warned, I will find you and I will win back what is mine and no power on this earth will stop me.”

The giant ruffian had moved forward to get the jewels, but at that, he paused and looked at the slighter man.

The man chuckled. “You can try, St. John. But no more than that.”

As if the words reassured the larger man, he snatched up the jewels and began to back away, the smaller man following, their weapons still at the ready.

When they reached the edge of the road, the leader let out a shrill whistle and instantly the other ruffians came running, melting into the forest behind the two. The horses, left without someone at their head, stomped restlessly.

Derrick’s hand ached where he gripped his cane. He called out, “Until later, then . . . my lady.”

The coachmen exclaimed in surprise, while the large ruffian cursed under his breath.

The slender highwayman had been halfway to her horse, but at Derrick’s words, she’d stilled.

Now, she turned toward him.

“Cat, dinna—“ the giant began.

She threw up a hand. “Let him speak.”

Derrick showed his teeth in a furious smile. “I care not for your sex; I just wanted you to know that I have discovered your secret, such as it is.”

She ignored a hissed warning from her large companion and strode forward, bold as brass. “Why would I protest it? In fact—” She reached up and tugged off her hat and revealed herself, a graceful oval face with a thick golden braid pinned about her head like crown. “Knowing that I’m a woman will only add to your humiliation, so I’m more than happy to admit my sex.” She moved so that the moonlight lit her features. With a mocking smile, she gave him an elaborately mocking curtsey.

Derrick stared at her, fury bitter in his stomach. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never forget the face that stared so defiantly at him now; the narrow nose, the full lips, the slanted, cat-like eyes, and the stubborn little chin.

She swept her hat to one side and made that elegant bow. “Thank you for your largesse, Captain St. John. Allow me to assure you that it is going to a far more noble reason than to line a pirate’s coffers.”

The coachman turned astonished eyes to Derrick. “A . . . pirate?”

“Don’t be a fool,” Derrick said sharply. “I’m a privateer, not a pirate. I have a letter of marquee from the King.”

“Words,” the lady mused, her low and husky voice tinged with humor. “They’re so convenient when explaining sins, aren’t they, Captain?” She sent him a laughing look that burned like acid and then settled her hat upon her head, her face and eyes once more in shadow. “And now, I must leave. Good eve, sir.”

Derrick took a step forward. “Aye, mount your horse and run away through the night. It will not save you. You, my lady, have made the biggest mistake of your life. I shall not rest until those rings are once again in my possession. Come what may, say what you will, do what you wish, I shall have those bloody rings back and you, my lady, will be at my feet, begging for mercy.” He smiled, then, the cold smile of a man who always got what he wanted. “And rest assured, madam, mercy is the last thing you’ll get from me.”

###

Want some more of Karen Hawkins' work?

AN ENTRANCING THIEF
For beautiful, seductive Moira MacAllister, the stakes have become terrifyingly high. Her daughter has been abducted and a priceless ancient relic is the ransom. Moira must acquire it at any cost, even if it means confronting the man she once duped and left, a man who still doesn’t know she has a child . . . and that he is the father.

A DASHING RAKEHELL
Robert Hurst, an operative in the king’s service, has never forgiven the mysterious spy who seduced him into marriage and then disappeared without a trace. Now, as he pursues the onyx box that will save his brother’s life, their paths cross again. But Robert isn’t sure which he longs for more—to satisfy his lust for revenge or to quench his relentless hunger for this bewitching woman.

A PERILOUS MISSION
When Moira reveals to Robert her long-kept secret, however, he realizes his burning desires must wait as a treacherous foe closes in, threatening all they hold dear . . . and their second chance at love.

Pick It Up Today!:

Amazon (paperback) | Barnes&Noble (paperback)

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Note: Karen Hawkins' book TO CATCH A HIGHLANDER is on esale on amazon for $2.99 here

**Giveaway**

Karen will be giving away a copy of her release, A MOST DANGEROUS PROFESSION, to 1 lucky commenter!!! Make sure to leave a comment with your thoughts on her scene and her books if you've read them and fill out the raffle copter form below to be entered!

Don't Forget to head over to Ramblings From This Chick and read Miranda Neville's special holiday scene (plus ener her giveaway)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

**Grand Prize Giveaway**

That's it. Super easy!

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Good Luck everyone and Happy Holidays!

On the 6th Day of Christmas My True Lord Gave To Me...with Vicky Dreiling (+ Giveaway)

2011-12-18T04:49:00.002-05:00

6 Wagers Starting with Vicky Dreiling

Vicky Dreiling is a confirmed historical romance junkie and Anglophile. Frequent business trips to the UK allowed her to indulge her passion for all things Regency England. Bath, Stonehenge, and Spencer House are among her favorite places. She is, however, truly sorry for accidentally setting off a security alarm in Windsor Castle. That unfortunate incident led her British colleagues to nickname her “Trouble.”
Despite her troublesome past, Booklist nominated Vicky’s debut historical romance HOW TO MARRY A DUKE one of the Top 10 Romances of 2011 and received a Romantic Times nomination for Best First Historical Romance.

Find Vicky Online: Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook

~*~

A CHRISTMAS WAGER

By Vicky Dreiling

Rosehill Abbey, 1816

Lady Josephine Marston leaned closer to Justin Greystone, the Earl of Ravenwood. “I will win this wager,” she said. “By Christmas, our friends will be madly in love.”

Justin Greystone, the Earl of Ravenwood, scoffed. “You fancy yourself a matchmaker, but you would do well not to meddle.”

“It’s Christmas. What could be more romantic? Miss Parker and Mr. Faraday only need a little nudge in the right direction,” Josephine said. Really, Justin was older and more experienced in the world, but when it came to matters of the heart, he was hopelessly inept.

“Josie, you have always tried to influence others, but this is none of your affair.”

“You must trust me.” She unfurled her fan and surreptitiously surveyed the room. Miss Parker sat near the pianoforte while Mr. Faraday was practically miles away at the fireplace. “We must bring them together. I’ll ask Miss Parker to play while you encourage Mr. Faraday to turn the pages.”

“And help you win our wager?” Justin said. “I think not. You, my dear, will submit to my kiss on Christmas day.”

“You’re awfully sure of yourself,” Josie said. A very secret part of her wondered what it would be like to kiss Justin. Their families had been close for ages, but it wasn’t until recently that Josie had begun to feel differently about Justin. There were times when she yearned to be closer to him, and on occasion, she caught him looking at her in a most peculiar fashion, as if he were spellbound. But then he would say something ridiculous, and all the fluttery feelings in Josie’s bosom would dissipate. But she didn’t want him to kiss her because of the wager. If they were to kiss at all, she wanted it to be because he was overcome with tender feeling. Josie almost snorted, a most unladylike thing to do.

To keep herself in check, she looked about the room once again and realized what was missing. “We have no mistletoe,” she said. “How can it be Christmas without mistletoe?”

Justin gave her a mischievous look. “Shall we make an expedition to find mistletoe?”

Josie’s father, the Duke of Dartborough chuckled. “That’s a splendid idea. Miss Parker and Mr. Faraday, do lend a hand.”

“Miss Parker and I must don our wraps first,” Josie said. Then she winked at Justin. “I will win this wager,” she said under her breath, “and when I do, you must kiss my feet on Christmas Day.”

***

Justin wished there was enough snow so that he could throw a snowball at Josie. Faraday was a good sport about having to squire Miss Parker about, but the man had to know that he was being pressured.

“You’re not even looking for mistletoe,” Josie said. “Where is your Christmas spirit?”

“I am looking for mistletoe, but I’ve not seen any.” He looked at Josie’s rosy cheeks and impish smile and his chest tightened. He’d suggested the ridiculous wager, because he’d not been able to think of any other way to steal a kiss without losing face. But now he wished he’d never suggested it in the first place. Blast it all. Why had he developed these feelings for Josie of all women? But he had, and now he couldn’t get rid of them.

Josie pulled on his arm and urged him behind a tree. “Look. Mr. Faraday is pointing at the tree. He found mistletoe. Do you suppose they will kiss?”

Justin drew nearer to her and trapped her with his hands against the tree. Her breath and his frosted in the cold air, but he very much wanted to kiss her. As he angled his head, her eyes started to drift closed.

Then Faraday’s voice rang out triumphantly. “We found mistletoe!”

Justin silently cursed the interruption and stepped back. “Our mission is complete.”

“Yes, it is,” Josie said.

Was that disappointment he heard in her voice?”

It was well after midnight, but Josie knew she wasn’t the only creature stirring as she padded toward the drawing room where the mistletoe hung. As she neared the open doors, she saw that a man stood before the dying coals. “Justin?” she whispered.

He whirled round. “Josie, what are you doing here in your nightclothes?”

“I heard a noise.” She wasn’t about to move out from underneath the mistletoe and miss this opportunity.

He strode toward her. “You should go to bed. It wouldn’t do at all for someone to find us here alone.”

She moistened her lips. “Justin, look up.”

“I don’t have to.” Then he took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly. “Josie, I won the wager.”

She cupped his cheek and smiled. “No, Justin. You won me, long ago.”

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he said.

###

Want some more of Vicky Dreiling's work?

SCOUNDRELS, RAKES, AND ROGUES BEWARE . . .

Lady Julianne Gatewick is in a pickle. It started when her brother’s best friend—for whom she’s long nursed a secret tendre—agreed to act as her guardian for the Season, only to seduce her with a risqué waltz.

But when the music stopped and the expectant ton waited for the Earl of Hawkfield to claim her as his own, he made his disinterest clear. Rather than succumb to humiliation, Julianne does what any recently discarded, wickedly witty young miss would do. She secretly pens a lady’s guide to enticing unrepentant rakes . . . and it becomes the hottest scandal in London.

Every honorable rake knows that friends’ sisters are forbidden. But suddenly Julianne has a spark of mischief in her eyes that Hawk can’t resist. Try as he might to push her away, he spends his days listening for her laughter and his nights dreaming of her kisses. He’s always avoided innocents and their marriage-minded mothers, but has the man least likely to wed finally met his match?

Pick It Up Today!:

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**Giveaway**

Vicky will be giving away 1 audio version and 2 print copies of her release, HOW TO SEDUCE A SCOUNDREL, to some lucky commenter (3 winners, 1 gets audio, 2 get print- Open to US and Canada only) !!! Make sure to leave a comment with your thoughts on her scene and her books if you've read them and fill out the raffle copter form below to be entered!

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Good Luck everyone and Happy Holidays!

On the 7th Day of Christmas My True Lord Gave To Me...with Shana Galen (+ Giveaway)

2011-12-17T03:37:00.003-05:00

7 Spies a Lurking with Shana Galen

Shana Galen is the author of numerous fast-paced adventurous Regency historical romances, including the Rita-nominated Blackthorne's Bride. Her books have been sold worldwide, including Brazil, Japan, Russia, Spain, Turkey, and the Netherlands, and have been featured in the Rhapsody and Doubleday Book Clubs. A former English teacher in Houston's inner city, Shana now writes full time. She's a wife, a mother, and an expert multi-tasker. She loves to hear from readers: visit her website at www.shanagalen.com.

Find Shana Online: Website | Blogs at Jaunty Quills | Twitter | Facebook

~*~

Background: Shana's release- LORD AND LADY SPY is available now!

Seven Spies A-Lurking: A Lord and Lady Spy Christmas Eve Tale

by Shana Galen

Somewhere in Europe, Christmas Eve

The spy called Saint curled her hands to keep from itching the tip of her nose. The itch was driving her mad, but if she moved, the man lurking on the other side of the alley might see her. His constant jerks and glances over his shoulder told her he was just nervous enough to panic and flee if he knew he was being watched. That would ruin everything. Besides, the itch was her intuition letting her know this was her man. This was Foncé’s turncoat.

She and Wolf had been trying to arrange a meeting with the turncoat for weeks now, but he was reluctant to show himself in public. She didn’t blame him. If Foncé’s men discovered his identity, they’d kill him.

And not quickly.

Somewhere a clock tower rang out the hour. She counted nine bells, and blew out an impatient breath. She hoped this interview didn’t take long. Christmas was tomorrow morning, and she still needed to buy her husband, Adrian, a gift.

The turncoat tossed one last look over his shoulder and opened the tavern’s door. He disappeared inside, and Saint said a silent Hallelujah. She started across the alley then ducked back in the shadows when she saw a shape emerge from the other side. One of Foncé’s men? Her fingers caressed the dagger strapped to her thigh.

“I hope you’re not thinking to throw that dagger at me,” the man said, his breath puffing out like smoke in the cold night air. “And I even brought you a Christmas gift. No gratitude.”

Saint sighed and allowed her shoulders to drop. She knew that voice—Blue, one of the agents for the Barbican group. The Barbican was the most elite group of operatives in England. She and Wolf had once been part of its echelons. They were rogue agents at present, but that didn’t mean the Barbican didn’t take an interest in their activities, especially when said activities related to obtaining information about the leader of the Maîtriser group, a criminal organization responsible for the murder of half a dozen of the Barbican’s best.

Saint started across the alley. “I don’t have time for games, Blue. I’m meeting Wolf inside.”

Blue, who she now realized wore a red cape with white fur, black boots, and a black beaver hat, appeared unimpressed. “I assume you have a meeting with the little mouse of a man who scurried inside. One of Foncé’s, I presume.”

Saint had long ago ceased wondering how Blue knew everything seemingly even before it happened. Now, conscious of the time, she said, “I’d invite you to come along, but this is a private meeting.”

Blue’s bright blue eyes shone even in the dim light from the nearby windows, and he raised a brow. “Tsk-tsk. Perhaps I won’t give you your gift, after all.”

Saint refrained from rolling her eyes. Barely. She needed to go inside before Wolf concluded the interview. More importantly, she needed to go to Bartholomew’s Antiquities and Trinkets before ten, or the shop would be closed and she’d have no gift for Adrian in the morning.

And she’d finally found the perfect gift.

“But I feel so awful, Blue,” she said. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“How typical. I shall give you your gift anyway.” And in his white-gloved hands, he held out a small cream-colored card.

Saint frowned. “A letter?”

“Information.” Blue flipped the card, and while he read, Saint scanned it. “Four agents of M group in pursuit. Exercise caution.”

Saint closed her eyes in frustration. It was obviously a message from Lord Melbourne, the head of the Barbican. She appreciated the information, but couldn’t stop the flood of annoyance. How had the Maîtriser group found them? Four agents. Counting Blue, that was three against four—a fair match. But could she count on Blue?

“Is information the extent of your gift, or are you here to help Wolf and me?”

“Oh, I have my own mission, Saint,” he said with a bow. “You and Wolf are on your own.” With a whirl of that ridiculous red cape he was gone, but she heard his voice float back. “I wouldn’t mind a pair of kid gloves—if you’re shopping for gifts tonight.”

Now Saint did roll her eyes. She turned to the tavern and pulled the heavy wooden door open, Blue’s words echoing in her ears. You and Wolf are on your own.

That was exactly how they liked it.

She spotted Wolf across the room. His gray eyes were already on her, and she felt the rush of heat she always associated with him. Whether he was Agent Wolf or her husband Adrian, one glance from him could make her breathless. He looked particularly handsome tonight in his blue coat, white cravat, and polished boots. His usually short cropped hair had grown a little since they’d been away and fell over his forehead giving him a boyish look.

She remembered how he’d appeared a few hours before, staring down at her, that rebellious lock of hair teasing her as he moved inside her. A fire had roared in the hearth before them to keep out the winter chill, but their naked bodies had been warm enough clothed in the fine sheen of perspiration. She could all but feel his muscular shoulders beneath her fingers, feel his thighs against her legs, feel…

She closed her eyes and willed herself back to the present.

She had a turncoat to question, four spies to evade, and a Christmas gift to purchase. There was no time to allow her thoughts to wander, even if the territory was rather delicious.

The tavern was quiet tonight, only a few patrons, speaking in low voices, occupied the scarred tables. Wolf—Adrian—and the mousy turncoat sat in the far corner. Adrian’s back was to the wall. She started for him and a moment too late sensed the assassin.

Damn it! Now she would never have time to shop!

***

Adrian spotted his wife the moment she entered the dingy tavern. Anyone who looked closely at her, looked beyond the tattered mantle, the scuffed boots, and the fingerless gloves of her disguise would know she didn’t belong in a place like this. She was too beautiful, too regal, too deadly.

He saw the assassin a split second before she did. Adrian sprang to his feet but not before she dropped into a roll, neatly evading the man’s knife, and kicked the man’s feet out from under him. He went down, heavily, and she bounced into a crouch. Her dagger was in her hand and then at the man’s throat. “Tell me who you work for,” she said in the local dialect.

“Never,” the man spat. He put the unarmed hand to his mouth.

Adrian shouted, “No!” But it was too late. The spy had swallowed the poison.

“Devil take it,” Sophia was shouting. She’d pulled him to his knees and was pounding him on the back. “Spit it out. Spit it out!”

Adrian was beside her when the man began to convulse. He grabbed her arm and tugged her away. Just for a moment, he held her. He felt her soft body relax into his, felt her quick breaths slow, felt her cold hands warm against his chest. And then he released her and pulled her away. “It was too late. He’s gone.”

“Well, that’s one down,” she muttered under her breath. Adrian would have asked what she meant, but he had to tackle the turncoat as the man attempted to sneak out the back of the tavern.

“Not so fast,” he said, yanking the man back by the collar. “We’re not done chatting.”

“I’m done,” the turncoat said. “I’m getting out of here before it’s too late.”

“And do you think they’re not waiting for you outside? Your only chance is to stay with Saint and me.”

Sophia took a seat at the table they’d vacated and nodded as Adrian pushed the turncoat back into his chair. The rest of the tavern’s occupants, momentarily interested in the attack and the man convulsing on the floor, went back to their conversations and their drinks, and one of the barkeeps hauled the dead man out the back.

Just another night in this shady, decrepit zone of the old city. Except tonight was Christmas Eve, and he had yet to purchase a gift for Sophia. This was not like him. Sophia was the impulsive one. He always bought her gift weeks, if not months, in advance. But now that he knew her secrets—knew she was a spy like him—he had trouble finding the right gift. What did one give a spy who was also one’s wife?

Diamonds? Poison? Silks? A pistol?

Good God, not a pistol. He wanted to survive until next Christmas.

Finally, yesterday afternoon he’d stumbled into Bartholomew’s Antiquities and Trinkets and found the perfect item. But it had not been ready, and now he had to return before ten or the shop would be closed and he’d have nothing.

“I’m getting out of here,” the turncoat said. “I don’t owe you anything.” He rose, but Sophia put a hand on his arm. Somehow that small gestured stayed him. Adrian could have punched him in the nose, and the man would have still scrambled away. But Sophia had a way of charming those they interrogated.

“You don’t owe us anything, that’s true,” she said softly, “but I have it on good authority that man who just died was one of four of Foncé’s men looking for you. If I were you, I’d ask where the other three are lurking.”

“And if I talk, if I tell you where Foncé is…”

Adrian withdrew a ticket from his coat. “This is a ticket on a ship that leaves in two hours. It’s sailing far, far away. You could be on it. You could start over somewhere Foncé will never find you.”

The turncoat reached for it with one of his thin hands, but Adrian slid it out of reach. “Talk, and it’s yours.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

Sophia sighed. “And you call yourself an informant?” She rose, giving a convincing impression of someone about to walk away. “Wolf put the ticket away—”

“Wait!” the turncoat all but yelled. “I know what he wants. Who he wants.”

Sophia sat again, and Adrian nodded for the man to continue.

“He wants someone called Reaper.”

“Who’s Reaper?” Adrian asked.

“One of yours. An assassin. That’s all I know.”

“The Barbican group is comprised of spies, not assassins,” Sophia said.

The turncoat shook his head. “I know what I heard. Foncé wants Reaper, and he knows the man’s secrets. Knows how to make him cooperate. May I have the ticket now?”

Adrian slid the ticket over but kept his fingers on it when the turncoat reached across the table. “If you’re lying to us…”

The turncoat swallowed. “I’m not. I swear.”

“Get out of here.” Adrian released the ticket.

When the man was gone, Adrian looked at Sophia. “That’s not a bad suggestion, actually.” He took her arm, his attention on the room’s patrons. “We should leave before someone comes to investigate that dead man. Did you fabricate that story about three other spies?”

“I wish I had.” They strolled for the exit, both moving warily, eyes on the other patrons. “I saw Blue before I came in. Melbourne sent us a note.” She fished it out of the folds of her mantle and handed it to him. He read it, swore, and shoved it in his pocket.

“Three left. What are the odds they decided to take a holiday on Christmas Eve?”

Sophia opened the tavern’s door and knocked the pistol out of the hand of the bald man standing on the other side. “Slim to none,” she answered, but Adrian was already ducking a knife attack by another assailant.

“Watch out!” he yelled as the bald man drew a knife on Sophia. But he shouldn’t have wasted his breath. She had her own dagger in her hand and hurled it at her assailant with frightening accuracy. The man went down, the dagger protruding from his eye.

Now Adrian’s attacker, a burly man with long black hair, took a cautious step back. “She’s pretty good, isn’t she?” Adrian said.

“Pretty good?” Saint frowned at him. “Are you going to dispatch him or do I have to do everything?”

Adrian ducked as the large man took a swing at him. “You have a pressing appointment?”

“No,” she said quickly enough for him to wonder. The attacker took another swing, and Adrian sidestepped, stuck his foot out, and swept the attacker’s legs. The man went down with a thud, and Adrian hit him on the back of the head with his pistol. Sophia handed him a length of rope, and he took it, frowning.

“Where did this come from?”

She held up her reticule.

He nodded, binding the man’s arms behind his back, as he did so. “I always wondered what ladies carried in those things.”

“Now you know. That’s three down. One to go.”

Adrian gestured to the end of the alley where a man was sprinting away. “I have a feeling that’s our last man. Perhaps he decided to take a holiday, after all.”

“Perhaps. What are we going to do with this one?”

Adrian hauled the unconscious man to his knees. “I thought I’d pay the tavern owner to store him in the cellar until tomorrow morning. We can interrogate him after breakfast.”

She smiled. “What a lovely Christmas gift. You know how I adore interrogations. Would you mind?” She gestured to her attacker, and with a grimace, Adrian pulled the knife free of the man’s eye and wiped the blade on a handkerchief.

“It must be true love. Do you want me to wait for you?” she asked.

“No. I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

She nodded and began to walk away, but he caught her arm, turned her, and kissed her. “Be careful, and I love you.”

“My words exactly.”

He watched her disappear down the dark alley then hauled the spy inside the tavern. A few moments later Adrian emerged alone and headed down the alley himself. Sophia had gone. He wanted to make sure to avoid her, so he turned right where she had arrowed left. He’d circle back to Bartholomew’s Antiquities and Trinkets, buy her gift, then meet her back at the hotel. She’d be none the wiser.

He’d walked about half a block before he heard the footsteps behind him. The man was a poor spy indeed if he couldn’t even muffle his footsteps. Adrian always liked to give another man a fighting chance, but Bartholomew’s closed in a quarter hour. He didn’t have time for sport. Without warning, he shot into the recessed doorway of a nearby shop. He had his pistol in his hand, primed it, and then pressed his back against the dark door.

The other man’s footsteps ceased, but the spy would come, Adrian knew. The man had no other choice. His leader wouldn’t accept defeat. Adrian held his breath and closed his eyes.

There. The faintest footfall. There. The scrape of a boot. He positioned his finger on the trigger, opened his eyes, and stared into the darkness of the doorway. A new shadow crept into his vision, but Adrian did not move. He did not breathe. He heard the quick draw of breath, the faltering step, the sound of a man swallowing fear. And then the attacker stepped into range and Adrian fired. The shot echoed as a tower clock began to chime the hour.

On the second bell, Adrian bent over the man. He recognized this as one of Foncé’s men who’d been in London. If Sophia’s information was correct, this was his last problem of the night. The clock chimed four.

Except the shop with Sophia’s gift was closing right now. The clock chimed five, and Adrian took off at a run, dodging a lonely carriage, jumping over a bench in a park, and skidding around a corner. He reached the block where the shop was located on the ninth bell and ran with everything he had. From the opposite direction a small figure in a worn mantle raced toward him. Wary, he slowed to a walk. The figure did the same, and as the last bell chimed, he realized it was Sophia. They reached Bartholomew’s Antiquities and Trinkets together. He stared at her. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Shopping for Christmas.”

Her chocolate brown eyes widened. “You? Shopping this late?”

“Too late apparently.” He gestured to the closed sign on the door.

“Don’t tell me you were buying my gift here. I was buying your gift here.”

“My gift?”

Someone inside the store—probably Bartholomew himself—yelled, “Go home. We open again the day after Christmas.”

“Wait!” Sophia called. “I just need one small item!”

“Come back after Christmas!” the man called, and the shop window went dark.

Adrian frowned. “Want me to break in?”

“No,” she laughed. “And out of curiosity, what were you going to get me?”

He took her arm, pulling her close against the chill of the night. “A parasol—rather the handle of a parasol. Inside was a secret blade. I figured I’d attach a parasol and you’d have a weapon no one suspected.”

They’d been walking, but now she stopped and turned to him. “Was this handle ebony with gold filigree etched on it?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Surely you weren’t going to buy me a parasol.”

“No. Walking stick. I thought I could put a wolf’s head on the end.”

Adrian nodded. “It would have been a good gift.”

“Yours too.” She looked up, frowned, then broke into a huge childlike grin. “Adrian, it’s snowing!”

He held out a hand, studied the small white flakes falling on his gloves and slowly melting. “We’ll have a white Christmas.”

“With no gifts to open.”

He pulled her into his arms. “We have each other.” He kissed the tip of her cold nose.

“And a man to interrogate in the morning.” The giddiness in her voice made him laugh.

“How could I forget?”

He wrapped his arms around her, lowered his head, and pressed his lips to hers. He savored her warm lips and the feel of the powdery snow on his cheeks. When she finally broke away, her dark hair sparkled with white snowflakes.

“You truly do look like a saint,” he said, touching her pale cheek just below the spot where ivory flakes clung to her long, dark lashes.

“My thoughts aren’t saintly. Let’s go back to the hotel and climb into a warm bed.” She took his hand.

“There’s nothing I’d like better, and Saint—Sophia?”

She turned to him.

“Happy Christmas.”

###

Want some more of Shana Galen's work?

Lady Smythe, England's preeminent spies. Their identities are guarded even from each other. After years of secrets and lies, their marriage is little more than a crumbling façade. But even love isn't as important as The Mission—to defeat Napoleon Bonaparte.

But what happens when the mission is complete?

Meet Lord and Lady Smythe, out of work spies. Lady Sophia Smythe will scream if she has to attend another tea party. Lord Adrian Smythe will hit someone if he's forced to while away another evening in Parliament. What are secret agents to do when the war is over?

There's one chance left to get back into the game. The prime minister needs a murder investigated. The problem? Two spies. One position.

All's fair in love and war.

Pick It Up Today!:

Amazon (paperback) | Barnes&Noble (paperback)

Amazon (Kindle) | Barnes&Noble (Nook)

Note: In the New Year, the last in the Sons of the Revolution series, THE ROGUE PIRATE'S BRIDE, will be released February 7, 2012, and Shana has a new series beginning in Fall 2012 about Regency courtesans.

**Giveaway**

Shana will be giving away a signed copy of her release LORD AND LADY SPY to 1 lucky commenter!!! Make sure to leave a comment about the scene above and fill out the raffle copter form below to be entered!

Don't Forget to head over to Ramblings From This Chick and read Eileen Dreyer's special holiday scene (plus ener her giveaway)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

**Grand Prize Giveaway**

That's it. Super easy!

Good Luck everyone and Happy Holidays!

On the 8th Day of Christmas My True Lord Gave To Me...with Grace Burrowes (+ Giveaway)

2011-12-16T01:22:00.003-05:00

8 Spinsters Singing with Grace Burrowes

Grace Burrowes grew up in central Pennsylvania and is the sixth out of seven children. She discovered romance novels when in junior high (back when there was a such a thing), and has been reading them voraciously ever since. Grace has a bachelor's degree in Political Science, a Bachelor of Music in Music History, (both from The Pennsylvania State University); a Master's Degree in Conflict Transformation from Eastern Mennonite University; and a Juris Doctor from The National Law Center at The George Washington University. Her debut novel, The Heir was chosen as a Publishers Weekly Top Five Romances for 2010, and is the first in an eight-sibling historical romance series to be published by Sourcebooks Casablanca.

Find Grace Online: Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook

~*~

Background: Their Graces, Percival and Esther Windham, Duke and Duchess of Moreland, have raised a large family, and are watching as their children find true love and happiness, one by one, in the books of the Windham Series. First the sons, Westhaven (“The Heir”), St. Just (“The Soldier”) and Lord Valentine (“The Virtuoso”), and now the daughters are winning their happily ever afters, most recently, Lady Sophie, in “Lady Sophie’s Christmas Wish.” This story finds the family gathering again in anticipation of the holidays, and while the Earl of Westhaven means well, his lectures on penny pinching and self-discipline miss the point of the season entirely….

The Ducal Gift

by Grace Burrowes

“Economies have seen this family put to rights, and economies will see us safely into the next generation.” The Earl of Westhaven executed a crisp about face and paced back toward the roaring fire. “If we observe economies and practice discipline then the New Year and all the new years to come will hold only good fortune for the Moreland family.”

Westhaven ceased pacing long enough to accept a glass of very fine cognac from his father, Percival, the Duke of Windham.

“To ward off the chill,” His Grace said with a small smile.

“Percival, you cannot expect our son to drink alone—not with the holiday season upon us.” The duchess’ smile was indulgent. She sat on the end of the settee closest to the fire, an embroidery hoop in her graceful hands, the firelight chasing gleaming highlights through her golden hair.

“Just a tot, then.” His Grace poured himself two fingers, saluted with his glass to his wife of more than thirty years, then downed half the contents in a single swallow.

“I do believe it is starting to snow,” Her Grace observed. “Just in time for Christmas.”

Westhaven’s brows twitched down. “Snow? When I must away to Surrey in the morning? That will not do.”

He was a handsome man, tall, with dark chestnut hair, and his mother’s green eyes, but from His Grace’s perspective, the lad wanted for a bit of humor. “You are my heir, Westhaven, but that does not quite give you the ability to command the Almighty in matters relating to weather. Finish your drink before you hare off to your countess and the blandishments of a warm bed on a cold winter night.”

For just a moment, Westhaven’s expression turned sheepish. The duke saw Her Grace had note their son’s expression, and exchanged a private parental smile with her.

Westhaven tipped up his glass and finished his drink. “My thanks for excellent libation and for your company. Mother.” He bent to kiss the duchess’ cheek. “Your Grace.”

When he would have shaken hands with his father, the duke pulled his son in for a hug, not caring in the least that it likely mortified the man beyond bearing.

“I confess, Esther, I find young people today tiresomely proper,” His Grace observed, taking a seat beside the duchess when Westhaven had departed. “One wonders how they manage to give us grandchildren.”

Her Grace put aside her embroidery and appropriated the glass from the duke’s hand. “Sometimes, all that propriety masks a passionate nature, which is the case with Westhaven. He can spout off about economies all he wants, but Anna assures me he’s lavish with his affections when they are private.”

The duke took the glass back, noting that the merest sip of cognac remained. “He gets that quiet passion from you, my dear.”

She rested her head on his shoulder, a familiarity she’d only indulge in when they were alone. “He gets his determination and fire from you, Percival. When he’s in a taking, Westhaven is quite ducal—and he’s in a taking about the family finances, as usual.”

She fell silent, the only sound in the room the cozy hiss and pop of the fire. His Grace set the rest of his drink aside and wondered how—with Westhaven ringing a peel about economies over his parents’ heads—the duke’s plans for Christmas were going be received.

The duke brushed a kiss to his wife’s temple. Time enough for economies next year—and perhaps for many years to come.

***

“Your Grace, I’m afraid it’s not possible to cancel the order. The pieces have already been scheduled for manufacture, the material procured, the labor engaged.”

Mr. Hermann’s eyes held worlds of apology, but Her Grace knew with sinking certainty that her rubicund jeweler of many years was not going to accommodate her request.

“You cannot sell the pieces elsewhere?” And oh, what it cost her to ask. Discipline, indeed.

“Not with the family crest displayed as it is, Your Grace. I am sincerely, abjectly sorry, but they will be lovely when completed. They will be lovely and impressive, I do assure you.”

Not as impressive as the lecture Westhaven delivered, nor the disappointment in His Grace’s eyes when the bill arrived.

“Thank you then. You’ll send word when they’re ready?”

Oh, yes, he’d send word, and he’d deliver the goods with his most effusive compliments. He bowed and beamed at the duchess all the way back to the ducal town coach, leaving Her Grace only one option: She was going to have to raise funds to cover this expense, or the Windham Christmas would be a gloomy undertaking indeed.

***

“There they are, Your Grace. Eight matched chestnuts, every one of ‘em with four white socks and every one of them sound, sane and willing. When the Windham sons and daughters go on an outing, heads will turn.”

The little fellow who’d been overseeing His Grace’s business at Tatt’s could not have been more cheerful as they walked along a row of eight loose boxes. They passed one gleaming red horse after another, handsome, sizeable mounts all, and worthy of a duke’s family.

“And if I’ve changed my mind, Mr. Vickery? If I’ve decided that a matched herd isn’t quite the look I wanted?”

Vickery’s smile did not falter. “I can have them delivered to the property or properties of your choice. Every animal you chose can ride to hounds, carry a lady sidesaddle, or acquit itself in a mannerly fashion on the busiest streets in Town.”

Ducal pride was an inconvenient thing when a man had been lectured by his own son regarding extravagance and responsibility. His Grace reached out to stroke the nose of a gelding upon whose back the Duchess would look truly magnificent. “I meant if I’ve decided I don’t want them after all, Vickery. Eight matched horses is a bit ostentatious, don’t you think?”

If Vickery understood the word, he wasn’t going to let it affect his mercantile interests. “Your Grace, your man spoke for the beasts so they’re as good as yours. If you reject the lot of them now….” Vickery turned basset hound eyes on the gelding. “It won’t go well for them on the block, Your Grace. Rejected by Moreland, former cavalry man and a demon riding to hounds. Everyone will assume they’re a bad lot, and that won’t look good at all for Vickery and Sons.”

Oh, and all of Melton would be looking askance next.

So, another solution had to be found if economies were to be observed. “I understand. Keep them well groomed. Christmas is close at hand, and it won’t do to be delivering Christmas gifts sporting mud and cockleburs.”

Vickery’s smile re-appeared. “Of course not, Your Grace. Happy Christmas to you and Her Grace, and to your entire family.”

A happy Christmas, indeed, with His Grace’s exchequer cast again into the cockleburs and mud or worse.

***

“It’s very, very handsome, Mr. Henderson.” Her Grace ran her bare hand down the saddle’s smooth twist. “His Grace will love it.”

“Known for his skill in the hunt field is Moreland, and this saddle will become his favorite, I can assure you.”

It wasn’t an emerald ring, it wasn’t fancy, it wasn’t even all that expensive—not compared to eight Moreland signet rings of gold, diamonds, and emeralds, but Her Grace had observed that the duke’s favorite hunting saddle was growing worn. She’d gone on a hunt of her own, for the man who’d made that saddle, and found him, bent and wizened, in a saddlery in Chelsea.

He’d been all too happy to take on a modest commission, claiming it would see his family comfortably into the New Year.

“You’ll deliver it tomorrow, then?”

“To the mews, as Your Grace requested. And if it don’t suit, you can put a lump of coal in my stocking.” He winked at her, and Esther Windham knew a sense of warmth. Whatever else befell the family this Christmas—shouting matches, lectures, awkwardness—this present was from the heart, and would be appreciated as such.

***

“If I might be so bold as to observe, Your Grace, they are the exact color of your duchess’s lovely eyes.”

His Grace’s jeweler, one Harold Whiffenstadt, rocked back on his heels, hands behind his back, his smile almost as brilliant as the simple bracelet gleaming on the green velvet lining the box.

“She has many other pieces that are more impressive,” the duke remarked. Her Grace had entire parures, though those were mostly family jewels, not the duchess’ personal property.

Whiffenstadt regarded the little bracelet. “Your Grace, jewelry that outshines the wearer defeats the purpose of ornamentation. Your duchess is the true gem, unless I mistake the matter greatly. She will love this token.”

She would, and more to the point, His Grace would love to see the modest gold and emerald ornament on her wrist. “I love her hands.”

He hadn’t meant to speak that aloud, but it was the truth.

“One always knows a lady by her hands,” Whiffenstadt said.

His Grace gave orders for the bracelet’s delivery and took himself out into a day sporting flurries and a brisk wind. He reflected that he most assuredly loved his wife’s graceful, competent hands, but it was more accurate to say he loved her touch. When he was overwrought with frustration or fatigue, she could soothe him with a hand to his cheek. In public, she had merely to grip his fingers in her own, briefly, discreetly, and even that made all the ills of the world a little more bearable.

His Grace had the satisfaction of knowing that when the Windham family Christmas gifting was over, regardless of Westhaven’s fuming and fretting, His Grace would still be holding the pretty, loving hand that meant the most to him the entire world.

***

Gayle Windham, the Earl of Westhaven, held up a hand for silence. “May I suggest—”

His sister, Sophie, Baroness Sindal, yanked on his morning coat. “No, you may not. Sit down. I want to see what Mama has given us for Christmas, and your books of sermons can just wait.”

Westhaven’s lips twitched. “You never even read Fordyce’s Sermons, and I saved all my allowance to ensure each of my sisters’ had a copy.” He’d been fifteen years old, about to go off to university and quite full of adolescent self-importance—a pompous twit of the first water, so to speak.

Sophie grinned at him and bounced the infant on her knee. “The Sermons make a nice paperweight.”

“At least let me hold the lad if you’re going to be such a scold, Sophie.” Westhaven appropriated his chubby, smiling nephew. “Mother, I suppose you’d best go first.”

A negotiation ensued among eight siblings and their spouses about the order of go for opening presents, during which Westhaven kept hold of the baby—babies were such jolly additions to the holidays, and His Grace was going to steal this one at any moment. When the verbal melee was over, it was decided to open Their Grace’s gifts last and Sophie’s first born was making a merry round of knees and laps.

To comfort her husband, Sophie had taken up a perch on his lap, while on the piano bench, Lord Valentine and his wife were squashed much closer together than propriety allowed. St. Just was lounging in a doorway, his hand casually resting on his countess’s bare neck, and various other siblings were arranged on the floor amid presents, children, and one brave tabby cat.

“Well, Papa?” Sophie aimed a smile at the duke. “You’re next. Is it to be sugarplums, toy soldiers, or wooden pistols?”

His Grace could be relied upon on Christmases long past to supply the best treats, and to appoint himself Regent of Misrule, capable of usurping the proper sovereign’s powers. At Sophie’s prompting, the duke reached behind his seat and produced a velvet bag.

“My gifts are out in the mews, though I propose an outing in the park for the assemblage later today to put them to the best use.” He rose and began handing around documents, each one neatly rolled up with gold ribbon. “As your papa, it was among my greatest pleasures—and most important duties—to find each of you the perfect pony for your first mount.” The duke’s chin came up and he speared Westhaven with a look that was more defiant than ducal. “I’ve taken the liberty of exercising that prerogative one last time. Westhaven, you shall not castigate me. A horse is a practical gift, and I assure you, the funds were on hand to manage it.”

An instant’s awkward silence ensued before Louisa spoke up. “I have been wondering how much longer dear Andromeda was expected to carry me about. Her muzzle is turning gray, and I think she’s eying the pensioner paddock with longing. Thank you, Papa. A new mount is a very thoughtful gift.”

She glowered at Westhaven, clearly daring him to prose on about budgets and economies—as if he’d do such a thing on Christmas Day. A chorus of thank yous followed, though it seemed to Westhaven the duke was avoiding his gaze. That his father—a generous man by nature—would be self-conscious about gift-giving was more alarming than that the family finances might be strained by ducal largesse.

And what could it mean, that the funds had been on hand to procure a veritable herd of horses?

“We’ve one gift left,” Westhaven pointed out, rather than dwell on such thoughts. “Mother, before we form a mounted mob in Hyde Park, I suspect you’ve something to add to the general bounty?”

Her Grace smiled, but to Westhaven’s practiced eye—he was married, after all—the duchess looked a trifle hesitant.

“My gift is small,” Her Grace said. She passed out little boxes, one to each sibling. “But it comes from my heart. I want each of you to recall my love when you use these gifts, and hopefully,” –she glanced meaningfully at St. Just, Lord Valentine, and Westheven— “you will use them frequently when writing to your parents.”

Westhaven opened his box to find an exquisite sealing ring, the Moreland crest engraved in a gold setting, emeralds and diamonds gracing the whole. A small fortune lay in his hand. “This is gorgeous, Mother.”

Also extravagant, particularly when multiplied by eight. And yet… a man should write to his mother. She was correct in that.

“And Westhaven, no lectures if you please,” Her Grace said. “The funds did not come from my pin money, and you’re not to worry. This is my gift to my children, and quite possibly their children as well.”

“Because,” Westhaven said, regarding his parents, “we will write to our children as well, and think of our parents’ love when we do.”

“Just so,” said His Grace, a bit too heartily. “Now if you lot will repair to the mews, I need a word with Her Grace under the mistletoe.”

While the duchess blushed like a girl, His Grace escorted her from the room, leaving Westhaven to meet questioning looks from his siblings.

“Don’t you start, Westhaven.” Sophie’s tones were low and fierce. “They gave us wonderful gifts.”

Six other pairs of green eyes challenged him to remark the extravagance of those gifts. “Am I really so bad as all that?” he asked the room at large.

Eve, youngest and in some ways the most stubborn, offered him a hesitant smile. “You can be as bad as all that, thundering on about solvency and self-restraint, Westhaven, but we know you’re mostly rehearsing for some parliamentary speech ages hence. We’re all proud of you for not having an apoplexy at Mama and Papa’s little excesses—provided you let us keep the horses and the rings?”

This was a fine moment to exhort them all not to follow the wrong-headed examples of their parents, spending heedlessly on things neither necessary nor practical. Phrases about the obligation of the nobility to set standards started dancing in his head, but at that moment, Sophie’s first born tugged on Westhaven’s breeches, and began ascending to a wobbly stand at his uncle’s knee.

“Up!” The child held up his arms, only to fall ignominiously to his nappied bottom.

As Westhaven hoisted his nephew into his arms, he reasoned that nobody learned to economize all at once, and what was more important? A fat balance in the ledger books, or the gift of a happy loving memory of this day?

“We keep the horses, the rings, and the abundant love with which they were given. Happy Christmas, and the last one to the mews has to wash Napoleon’s linen.”

Amid cheers and more hooted schoolroom taunts, Westhaven took Eve’s ring from her hand and slipped it on her finger, then kissed her sister’s cheek. “And no malingering under the mistletoe!”

***

“I do believe our spinster daughters have better aim than their brothers.” His Grace peered down into the back garden, where his offspring were comporting themselves like unruly children, pelting one other with snowballs, shrieking madly and dashing from hedge to bush to bench.

“I love that sound—our children at play.” The duchess slipped an arm around his waist. “The grandchildren will soon be joining them.”

They shared a quiet, lovely moment, full of memories, and full of hopes for those grandchildren.

His Grace turned and took his wife in his arms, right there by the window. “I have a gift for you, my love. It’s much smaller than a horse.”

“Your love is gift enough for me, and it’s as big as all of creation, Percival Windham, though the horses were a wonderful gesture.” She rested her cheek against his chest, and His Grace wanted nothing so much as to remain there with her, the rest of the family larking around down in the garden, snow falling and all right with their world.

“For you.” He drew a little box from his pocket, and passed it to her. When she stepped back, he let her go reluctantly. “It’s merely a token.”

“I have a gift for you, too, husband. One you don’t really need, though I want you to have it.”

“Open mine first.” He had to tell her how he’d afforded the horses—there was no hiding a transaction like that—but first, he wanted to see her eyes sparkling like the emeralds she wore so well.

Her Grace opened the box, and held the little bracelet up to the light. “Percival, it’s lovely. It’s marvelous. You must put it on me this instant.” She held out her wrist, her smile soft and luminous.

“You like it then? The only emeralds in your collection are your grandmother’s parure, and that has no bracelet. This can be for everyday, of course, or whenever—” He fell silent, fastening the clasp, then bringing her knuckles to his lips.

“Oh, Percival…”

He glanced up. That was not an Oh, Percival, of gratitude. If he didn’t mistake the matter, it was an Oh, Percival redolent with despair.

“My love, is something amiss?” He kept hold of her hand, lest she decide she had to join the affray in the back garden.

“No, nothing. Your gift is in the armoire.” She gestured with her free hand, and yet it seemed to His Grace, that the duchess might be blinking back tears. He led her to the armoire and opened the doors to find a hunting saddle sporting a bow of gold silk on the pommel.

“A saddle? For me? A new saddle?” The horseman in him couldn’t help but run his hand over the supple leather. “By God, it’s beautiful, Esther. And look, that’s the stitching pattern on my old saddle, and the fittings, and the… Where did you have this made?”

Her smile was full of mischief and glee, and yet, she was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Old Mr. Dickens. He makes only a handful each year, his sons having taken over the trade, but for you… he recalled the day you purchased the last one and was quite proud to have your custom. I hope you like this one just as much.”

She was shy and pleased and so lovely, so loving, His Grace just had to kiss her.

“It’s perfect, Esther. I shall ride in no other, but my dear, we need to talk before we join the children on this outing.”

She kissed him too, a quick wifely buss that brought a whiff of flowers to the duke’s nose. “We do need to talk. You must promise me you will not be wroth, Percival. I have more fancy parures than is decent.”

She led him by the hand to a settee and tugged him down beside her. The gold bracelet winked from her wrist while outside, the ladies had started up a bouncy chorus of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.

“I will not be wroth, Esther, and you must make me the same promise.” They had exchanged that promise any number of times in their marriage, and it had stood them in good stead. “You speak first, my dear, while I admire your bracelet.”

Her Grace inhaled, studying their joined hands. “I sold my grandmother’s parure to pay for the rings. The emeralds on my wrist are now the only emeralds I own, but I will treasure them always, Percival, more than the whole set I inherited from my grandmother.”

His Grace wanted to laugh, he wanted to hug his wife and kiss her senseless. He contented himself with sharing the truth with her.

“I sold the hunting box in Melton to pay for the horses, Esther. The only hunting saddle I’ll ever need is the one you just gave me. I’m too old to be spending weeks galloping around in the mud after a pack of hounds and some wily fox. I’ll attend the local meets, and have more time to spend with my duchess, our children and our grandchildren.”

The look she gave him was so… dear. Her Grace snuggled closer. “Happy Christmas, Percival Windham. I do love you.”

“Happy Christmas, Esther Windham. Your love is all the gift I will ever need, and of course, I love you too. Very much.”

A snowball smacked against the window, and while the Windham rabble charged into a rousing rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus, Westhaven bellowed for his parents to leave the mistletoe and come down to join the fun.

After one more lingering, loving kiss, the duke and his duchess did exactly that.

###

Want some more of Grace Burrowes' work?

All Sophie Windham wants is peace, quiet and the novelty of a little solitude in the Duke of Moreland's London mansion before she joins her family for Christmas at the family seat in Kent. In the middle of a very inconvenient London snowstorm, Sophie finds herself stuck with an abandoned baby, and only the assistance of handsome stranger Vim Charpentier standing between her and complete disaster...

Vim Charpentier's worst memories are of Christmases spent with family in Kent, so when he has an excuse to tarry for a few days in London, he willingly lends a hand helping Sophie and her new little charge become acquainted. The growing attraction he shares with Sophie warms both their spirits, but when Sophie's three brothers arrive (from the East) to whisk her away, Vim has to decide between facing his memories, or letting the Christmas gift of a lifetime slip through his fingers.

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**Giveaway**

Grace will be giving away 8 copies of her holiday historical romance LADY SOPHIE'S CHRISTMAS WISH to eight commenters!!! Tell her about the best Christmas present you gave to or received from a family member. Make sure to leave a comment with your answer and fill out the raffle copter form below to be entered!

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Good Luck everyone and Happy Holidays!

On the 9th Day of Christmas My True Lord Gave To Me..with Maya Rodale (+ Giveaway)

2011-12-15T01:04:00.003-05:00

9 Playful Princes with Maya Rodale

Maya began reading romance novels at her mother’s insistence, and it wasn’t long before she was writing her own. Her next release is The Tattooed Duke (March, 2012), book three in the Writing Girls Series. Check out www.mayarodale.com for sneak peeks and prizes.

Find Maya Online: Website | Extras' Page | Twitter | Facebook

~*~

Nine playful princes, one scorned duke and daring wallflower

by Maya Rodale

London
22nd December, 1820

It was the sort of occasion for which marriage-minded mamas resorted to all manner of nefarious trickery, for which obscenely expensive and exquisite gowns were purchased, and upon which the hearts and hopes and dreams of many a maiden were fixed.

The occasion which had all of London in a froth (the female half, particularly) was the first ever gathering of the League of Princes. Nine European Princes gathered in London to pledge their friendship and unite their nations for the greater good of Europe. Or something to that affect; most of London was in an utter frenzy because there were Princes in town. Eligible, marriageable Princes. Nine of them, in fact.

A ball was held at the Palace to celebrate. Invitations were highly coveted. The Duke of Uxbridge sold his for three thousand pounds to some title-hunting American. Five hundred invitations were sent. Six hundred favorable replies were received. The ball was an absolute crush.

The women were agog over the Princes. One man was decidedly not.

“How does it feel to not be the highest ranking chap in the room?” Jack Fitzwalter asked, clapping his friend, the Duke of Ashbourne on the back.

“I have never enjoyed myself at a ball more, now that the vicious machinations of debutants and their mothers are not directed at myself,” Ashbourne answered truthfully. On every other occasion, since the day of his birth, he’d been The Most Eligible Bachelor In The Room.

Thus, it was strange to be able to relax, rather than be on guard for a wicked female to tear her bodice, muss up her hair and throw herself into his arms, as Miss Trawicke had done just Thursday last at the Westlake Soiree.

“Not one single female is remotely interested in you this evening,” Fitzwalter said, awed. “It’s as if you were manure on the bottom of one’s boot.”

“Ridiculous. I could still have any woman I chose,” Ashbourne scoffed.

“Indeed? I wager that Lady Ophelia Marchant will not waltz with you,” Fitzwalter said, inkling his head to the lady in question. Her family occupied the house next to Ashbourne’s in London. While they were familiar to each other, his determination to avoid any suitable and unmarried female—as the Most Eligible Bachelor In The Room was wont to do—meant they were not close.

She was on what, her third season now? She was a plain lass, and too quiet and steadfast to draw many suitors. She was not the sort of woman to inspire mad passions in a man.

“Twenty pounds says she will,” Ashbourne said, shaking his friends hand and strolling over to Lady Ophelia. Surely, he’d be twenty pounds richer in just a few moments.

“Good evening, Lady Ophelia.” He bowed before her. She spared him the briefest of glances.

“Go away,” she hissed. When he recovered from the surprise of being refused, Ashbourne delighted in the challenge before him.

“Would you like to waltz?” he asked, undeterred.

“No thank you,” she replied.

“You realize you have just refused a duke,” Ashbourne pointed out. It seemed overmuch to add that he was generally considered The Most Eligible Man In The Room.

“Pshaw. A duke is a trifling thing tonight. I’m saving myself for a Prince.” At the mention of her quarry, Lady Ophelia’s eyes brightened with excitement and her cheeks flushed with anticipation. Had he said she was plain? She was really pretty, in truth.

“Any particular Prince? I hope you hadn’t set your heart on the Prince Furstenberg for he’s been ‘discovered’ with Lady Samantha Weatherby. They were in the conservatory. Certain items of attire were missing.”

Ashbourne and Lady Ophelia both turned to look at the ashen-faced Prince, who appeared shell-shocked and Lady Samantha, who smiled triumphantly and toasted her champagne flute.

“Oh well, one down. Eight options left,” Lady Ophelia said.

“Seven. The Prince of Schleswig-Holstein retired early,” Ashbourne said and Lady Ophelia scowled. “He tired of being hunted, I presume.”

“That doesn’t show much stamina now, does it?” Lady Ophelia murmured to his absolute shock.

“See, some things are more important than a title,” The duke said, uttering a sentence he never imagined would cross his lips. “Like stamina.”

“Your point, Your Grace?”

“A title isn’t everything,” he said.

“Really? Funny, that, coming from a Duke,” she said, glancing away from the crowds and Princes and fixing her gaze upon him. Suddenly, he felt warm. Overheated.

“A duke whom you refused not a moment ago.” He’d never been refused. She so clearly wasn’t the slightest bit interested in his company, yet a team of horses could not have dragged him away from her. It so happened that Lady Ophelia was pretty and intriguing.

“That was before I knew there were only seven princes left,” she said, sighing.

“Six,” the duke corrected. The Prince of Piacenza‎ was entering the ballroom from the terrace, arm in arm with a very smug Lady Melinda Buckley. His cravat was askew, her hair was disheveled.

“Five, really. The Prince Volkonsky is supposedly a crashing bore. I’m not sure I could tolerate that, not for all the tiaras in Europe,” Lady Ophelia said. This elicited a grin on his part.

“Would you care to waltz now?” he asked. He didn’t need twenty pounds but he did need to win. More than anything, he now really, truly desired a waltz with Lady Ophelia.

“There are still five princes left,” she pointed out.

“Shall I dispatch them all?” he offered gallantly. Finally, she turned to look at him.

“You have never been so keen to dance with me before, duke. We are not strangers to one another.”

“You never would have refused me before,” he said frankly. Like many a man he was aroused and enthralled by the thrill of the chase, but despised being hunted himself. He did not puzzle on this double standard for he was noticing, for the first time, that Lady Ophelia possessed a marvelous, mouth watering figure. He clasped his hands behind his back, lest he surrender to the impulse to touch, to caress.

“Shh. The Prince of Capua is coming this way!” She cried.

“I believe he is headed toward the punch bowl.”

“Well then to the punch bowl we must go.”

“We?” That was a good sign, at least. Off to his left, Fitzwalter was laughing heartily at the sight of the Duke of Ashbourne trailing after Lady Ophelia Marchant, who was in hot pursuit of a Prince of Capua.

A mob swarmed the Prince as he arrived at the punch bowl. Apparently, the entire ton was suddenly, outrageously parched. He might have wished to watch the scene about to unfold—enhanced by the gin that young Lord Derby had spiked the punch with.

But Ashbourne noticed that he stood under the mistletoe. With Lady Ophelia. To hell with the waltz. He suddenly, desperately wanted a kiss.

Lady Ophelia noticed that she stood under the mistletoe with the Duke of Ashbourne whom she had adored a la distance for quite some time now. Years of pining for him had met with no success. Tonight, she deliberately switched her tactics to rebuff him rather than throw herself at him, as per the advice of her other neighbor, the devious Lady Palmerston.

She had curbed her impulses to waltz, to banter prettily with him. She had, by some Christmas miracle, managed to maneuver them under the mistletoe under the pretence of following the Prince of whatever to the punch bowl.

“There are still 5 Princes left,” Ashbourne said. The ninny.

Lady Ophelia heaved a sigh. “I suppose a duke will do.”

And before a gaggle of princes and ballroom stuffed with the haute ton, the duke of Ashbourne kissed Lady Ophelia Marchant.

After that, their betrothal was announced. And after that, he paid twenty pounds to Fitzwalter for though he failed to obtain a waltz, he’d scored a kiss. It was worth every penny.

###

Want some more of Maya Rodale's work?

Coming in March 2012:

Breaking news, scandal fans:

You thought you knew the dangerous Duke of Wycliff, London’s globe-trotting adventure addict. Here’s what you don’t know: he’s penniless. Sebastian Digby’s duekly lifestyle is over forever unless he finds a rich bride. But thanks to The London Weekly, everyone knows better than to tangle with this lothario. Besides (as one writer can testify), it seems that Sebastian has been unable to keep his hands of his own lowly housemaid…

And that’s a problem. A big one. Because that housemaid just happens to be me. Eliza Fielding. The same undercover Writing Girl who’s been exposing the Duke’s most intimate secrets to the world. And now I’ve gone and complicated everything by falling love with him. Passion and deception have never been so delicious, but now the truth could destroy everything. This is more than a conflict of interest. It’s a seduction where love itself hangs in the balance

Pick It Up Today!:

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**Giveaway**

Maya will be giving away one copy of A TALE OF TWO LOVERS, book two in the Writing Girls series to one random commenter who answers the following question: hold out for a prince, or will a duke do for you? (US Only) Just make sure to leave a comment with your answer and fill out the raffle copter form below!

Don't Forget to head over to Ramblings From This Chick and read Christie Kelly's special holiday scene (plus ener her giveaway)

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Good Luck everyone and Happy Holidays!

On the 10th Day of Christmas My True Lord Gave To Me...With Ashley March (+ Giveaway)

2011-12-14T00:56:00.003-05:00

10 Scandals Brewing with Ashley March

MEET ASHLEY
The Short & Sweet

I was born and raised in East Texas, moved to Colorado after getting married eight years ago, and have been craving snow-free winters ever since. I have a husband who just keeps getting better and better over time and two beautiful daughters.

Life is simply…fantastic.

Find Ashley Online: Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter
~*~

Background: This is a book I’m thinking about writing (haven’t decided yet) under my new pen name, Elise Rome. The idea came to me the other morning as I was waking up, and I thought it would be perfect for the scandal theme in the 12 Days of Christmas celebration.

At the beginning of this scene, the heroine, Evangeline, is escaping from a Christmas Eve ball to meet with the man she wishes to marry. She and Viscount Rathdowne were promised to others by their families, but they have set up a rendezvous in the garden where they plan to be caught. The betrothals will be broken as he is “forced” to marry her in order to salvage her reputation, and they will live happily ever after.

Unfortunately...neither of them counted on her close friend, Leo—who has reason to believe Rathdowne is a villain, and knows nothing of their plan—following Evangeline out to the garden to keep her from becoming victim to Rathdowne’s rakish tendencies.

The Winter Garden
by Ashley March

Leo wasn’t deceived into believing that he was hidden among the shadows in the corner of the ballroom. With the covert glances he continued receiving from Lady Maddows and her daughter, he was very well aware they could see him.

He flashed the daughter a feral smile, and she rewarded him with her parted mouth and a gasp he imagined he could hear even halfway across the room. As she whirled to scamper off like a frightened kitten, Leo leaned back against the wall.

Ah, yes. Run, little one. Run far, far away from the villainous scoundrel.

His gaze shifted, idly observing the antics of the other guests. Odd how the shadows seemed more welcoming, as if he could mold himself into the darkness more easily now than he could the bright light of the chandeliers. He had no desire to step out and mingle; there was only one woman present tonight whom he could even bring himself to tolerate, and he’d already danced with her twice.

As if summoned by memory, Leo’s gaze was caught by the sight of Evangeline on the opposite side of the ballroom. He’d already complimented her on the emerald green hue of her dress to appease her feelings, and while she did look remarkably pretty tonight, his attention was more focused on the man standing at her side.

Viscount Rathdowne.

Leo’s thoughts turned black as he watched the two converse in between the movements of the dancers. They turned murderous when Rathdowne leaned in and—almost accidentally, it appeared—brushed his lips across Evangeline’s ear.

Where was her common sense, the practicality she took such pride in? Leo smiled grimly. He knew she wasn’t like one of the little fools who became such easy victims for Rathdowne’s predatory nature.

A better question—where was her fiancé?

He was the fool, wasn’t he, to return to his family’s estate instead of attending the Fairthorne ball. To allow Rathdowne near. The high and mighty in London might have claimed Leo’s soul was painted black for the things he had done in his past, but at least he didn’t go panting after another man’s betrothed…nor did he do so while his own betrothed stood talking to her mother a few lengths away.

Evangeline’s head was bent close to Rathdowne’s now, and Leo decided to corner her afterward to discover what she found so interesting about the man she should have despised. Then the two parted, Evangeline stepping back against the wall near the terrace, Rathdowne ambling away to plague someone else with his company, and Leo’s mood immediately lightened.

“Bloody hell.”

The curse came swift and low as he saw Evangeline—he assumed she thought her skills at stealth perfect—slip through the terrace door, out into the winter night. He tried to remind himself that his friend was an intelligent woman, capable of marvelous things and possessing a sharper mind than even his own, but the moment he turned his attention to Rathdowne and found the man’s gaze focused on the same terrace door, Leo doubted everything.

He moved quickly, striding around the room from wall to wall, staying among the shadows. He knew the house well enough that he soon escaped the ballroom and found another door to the terrace. He might wish to protect her, but it would do neither of them good if he were caught outside with her instead of Rathdowne.

The cold air bit at his skin as soon as he stepped outside. Even the snow held a layer of frost, glittering with a million stars beneath the moonlight, and he had to duck his head to avoid the threat of icicles hanging from the low eaves above. Leo reconsidered his opinion of Evangeline; perhaps she was a fool, after all. At least he wore an evening jacket, but she only had two scraps of cloth clinging to the edges of her shoulders to serve as sleeves.

His feet crunched in the snow, and she whirled toward him as he approached. He tried not to take offense when her obvious anticipation dimmed to disappointment, but he did.

Rathdowne. Truly?

She clutched her arms with her hands and frowned.

He tried not to notice her shivering. If he offered her his jacket, she would be less inclined to return into the heated house by his side.

As was their way, an entire conversation was exchanged silently—no words needed. She’d never learned the trick of hiding her thoughts from the canvas of her expression, and she was too damned quick, able to guess what he was thinking before he even uttered a syllable.

Of course, he hadn’t made much of an effort to wipe the glower from his face, either. “Rathdowne, Evangeline?”

She scowled in response, but otherwise made no reply.

“What of your betrothal? Your upcoming nuptials?” He slowed his voice, allowing his speech to crawl to such a pace that she couldn’t possibly ignore his emphasis on the last word of each sentence.

She turned her back. A fog of air appeared as she said, “G-go away.” Her teeth had begun to chatter.

“I wish you to come inside with me.”

“I don’t want him to find you here. Please, Leo.”

It wasn’t her plea that swayed him, but the realization that if he had seen her leave the ballroom, anyone might have as well. And if Rathdowne were stupid enough to leave through the same door as she had—and Leo was not an optimistic man concerning the topic of Rathdowne’s intelligence—someone would likely draw the correct conclusion.

“Very well,” he said, then cursed for effect. “Do as you wish.”

He waited a moment, to see if she would change her mind. But she didn’t. She didn’t even look at him. He could only see the white curve of her cheek as she stood facing away, the trembling of her body as she waited for her future lover to appear.

Leo spun on his heel, being sure to make enough noise for her to hear him walking away.

***

When Gabriel finally approached from the ballroom, Evangeline couldn’t feel the tips of her fingers or her nose. It was worth it, though, to be able to marry the man she loved.

He stopped in the shadows a few feet away and opened his arms, and though her legs from her knees downward had turned numb five minutes ago, she ran to him. It seemed a thousand nights had passed since they’d first begun planning this moment.

His arms wrapped around her tightly, drawing her into his warmth, and she buried her face in his chest, wishing she could smell his familiar, beloved scent. But her nose was frozen, and all she could smell was the cold.

His hand touched her nape, urging her face to lift, and—because this was the end of their hopelessness, because this was the beginning of their future—it felt like their first kiss. As his mouth met and slowly parted hers, she clung to his jacket, frantic for the heat of his lips to thaw her own.

In this winter garden time stood still. He had told her he would make it obvious when he left the ballroom to go outside, to be sure he aroused curiosity, but even if they had to wait half an hour or more for one of her siblings to come searching for her, she wouldn’t mind.

He was hers.

Soon, she would be his.

And then she gasped as his tongue touched hers. A first kiss, and better than any yet before. Joy flooded her blood, pounded in her ears along with her heartbeat, heated every inch of skin which had just moments before been stiff and tight with chill.

Perhaps it was this joy that distracted her, that kept her from being prepared for getting caught—for when Gabriel suddenly broke apart from her and she saw her eldest brother and his wife standing a few feet away, she was completely taken by surprise. Dazed from the effects of his passion.

Gabriel must have been surprised, too, for he cursed beneath his breath.

Behind her brother and sister-in-law, more faces began to appear.

“What the hell is going on?” her brother demanded. “I hope to God that kiss was worthy, Evangeline, because now you must marry him. Who is he?”

She smiled and reached forward to take his hand, looking up into his face in the shadows.

And then a voice she knew well, a voice whose echoes she had carried around in her heart for so long, spoke grimly beyond her brother’s shoulder. “I’d like to know as well. Who is he, Evangeline?”

Her heart actually ceased beating at the sound of Gabriel’s voice, and she dropped the man’s hand as if he’d stung her. “No—” she began, then stopped herself. She wouldn’t give into hysterics, no matter how she wished to back away and shake her head violently, to insist that it had all been a mistake.

The man didn’t allow her to do such a thing, regardless. With a heavy breath, his hand took hers again and together they stepped out of the shadows.

This time her heart didn’t stop, but raced as if it meant to explode from her chest.

Leo looked down at her and smiled—that smile she’d understood since they were children, the one that meant he’d rather be anywhere else in the world but here. “Why, it’s me, of course. Who else did you suppose it could be?”

###
Want some more of Ashley March's work?

Sebastian Madinger, the Earl of Wriothesly, thought he'd married the perfect woman-until a fatal accident revealed her betrayal with his best friend. After their deaths, Sebastian is determined to avoid a scandal for the sake of his son. But his best friend's widow is just as determined to cast her mourning veil aside by hosting a party that will surely destroy both their reputations and expose all of his carefully kept secrets...

Leah George has carried the painful knowledge of her husband's affair for almost a year. All she wants now is to enjoy her independence and make a new life for herself-even if that means being ostracized by the Society whose rules she was raised to obey. Now that the rumors are flying, there's only one thing left for Sebastian to do: silence the scandal by enticing the improper widow into becoming a proper wife. But when it comes to matters of the heart, neither Sebastian nor Leah is prepared for the passion they discover in each other's arms....

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Note: Effective 1/1/12, Ashley March will be changing her pen name to Elise Rome. A facebook page and twitter account have already been created. Old and new fans can make their way there for future work, updates, and general musings by this amazing author.

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